UC-NRLF 


027 


HUMANITY 


ft. 


PREFACE 


DEAR  READER:  —  Both  you  and  I  have  a  "self"  that  is 
comprised  of  two  distinct  "me's"  or  individual  identities  — 
one  "  me  "  as  of  the  spiritual,  and  one  as  of  the  physical  side. 
For  myself,  the  one  I  have  named  Psyche  —  as  of  the  soul- 
shape  and  the  ideal.  The  other  I  have  named  Ego  _  as 
of  the  world  inhabitant  and  natural.  Of  my  poems  there 
are,  seemingly,  these  two  expressions,  dividing  into  kindred 
groups  and,  so  far,  into  two  distinct  books.  This,  the  first 
book,  MARTYRED  HUMANITY,  takes  cast  of  Psyche. 
The  second,  which  is  in  process  of  publication,  and  which 
is  to  bear  the  title  of  YOU  AND  ME,  takes  cast  of  Ego. 
The  two  books  together  constitute  the  poet-self,  as  first 
to  be  made  public. 

With  three  or  four  exceptions  I  have  never  published  any 
of  my  poetry.  The  urgency  to  print  in  the  present  instance 
has  come  from  those  of  my  friends  who  have  had  chance- 
glimpses  of  these  unworldlings,  and  adjudged  me  guilty  of 
a  wrong  in  withholding  them  from  public  life.  They  are 
all  the  creations  of  chance-suggestion,  environment,  and 
self-consciousness.  I  do  not  recall  one  that  was  written  in 
my  study,  or  in  any  place  in  the  nature  of  a  literary  work 
shop.  The  poem,  "  Martyred  Humanity,"  was  written  exactly 
as  it  now  appears  in  a  rail-car.  The  rest  are,  alike,  the  prog 
eny  of  odd  situations,  and  the  spells  between  the  exactions 
of  a  strenuous  life  work  and  the  lapses  of  time  in  travel. 
Nearly  all  have  a  birth-history. 


NEW  YORK,  October  15,  1900. 


IN  PROCESS  OF    PUBLICATION 

YOU    AND   N1 

and  Other  Poems 
By  VALENTINE  STEWART 


Uniform  in  Size  and  Style    with 
MARTYRED  HUMANITY  .... 


PRICE,  IN  CLOTH $2.00 

BOTH  BOOKS  IN  Box 4.00 

(Postpaid) 


THE  SURRY  BOOK  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


MARTYRED 
HUMANITY 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

By  VALENTINE  STEWART, 


Published  by   THE  SURRY  BOOK  COMPANY, 

NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1901,  BY 
THE  SURRY  BOOK  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK 


MADE  BY 

THE  WERNER   COMPANY 

BOOK     MANUFACTURERS 
AKRON,    OHIO 


REVERENTLY 
DEDICATED    IN 

MEMORY 
OF  MY  MOTHER 


M191902 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PROEM ' 13 

THE   ANTHEM: 

EGO  AND  PSYCHE 19 

CATHEDRAL  WINDOWS  : 

MARTYRED  HUMANITY 25 

MAN'S  GENIUSHOOD  is  CHRIST 26 

CHRIST  BEFORE  PILATE 28 

THE  CHRIST  IN  WOMAN 31 

SONG 33 

FINGER-GUIDES 34 

DISAPPOINTMENTS 36 

SPIRIT  LANES : 

THE  SPIRIT'S  THEME 41 

THE  THREE  WISHES 42 

THE  ANGEL-AGE 44 

KITE  FLYING 46 

UPSIDE  DOWN 49 

THE  PENNY  OF  CUSTOM 51 

THE  SMOKE  WILL  ASCEND 53 

PSYCHE 54 

THE  OMEN 55 

THE  IDOL  KEPT  WHOLE 57 

THE  UNIVERSAL  BIRTH 59 

SENTIMENT  AND  GOD 61 

THREE  MILLS 62 

PENURY 64 

PASS  ON  ! 66 

WHAT  WISDOM  SAITH 71 

(7) 


8  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

MEMORIAL  HALL: 

RETROSPECTION 75 

So  SHALL  LOVE  BE 77 

SHORT  AND  SWEET 78 

IN  RETURN  FOR  A  ROSE 79 

A  BIRTHDAY  GIFT 80 

WORTH  CONFESSED 81 

STHE  INSPIRATION 82 

THE  DARE 83 

THE  SONNET  — To   FAY 84 

AFTER  THE  OPERA 86 

STORY  CHIMES 88 

THE  SONG  OF  IMMORTAL  LIFE 92 

KELVIN'S  JUBILEE 94 

WILL  IT  BE  ? 96 

AUSTRALASIA 98 

SOUVENIR  OF  A  VISIT 102 

THE  COMMON  PATH 103 

«' ALL  SAINTS  »  \     THE  INSPIRATION 104 

(     THE  ASPIRATION 106 

A  QUAFF  FROM  TRUTH 109 

THE  SPIRIT'S  SYNAXIS : 

WOMAN 113 

THE  LIBERTY  BELL  OF  THE  \VORLD 115 

WE  TRYING  Do 119 

HA-WA-II 121 

THYSELF 123 

THE  SENTENCE  OF  DEATH 125 

ALONE  ! 127 

Two  HEARTS 128 

THE  THREAD  OF  LIFE 130 

GOD'S  PITY 131 

ASPIRATION J33 

LIFE  AND  LOVE... 135 

LABOR  ELATE 137 

SELF  UNTO  SELF 139 

THE  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS I41 


CONTENTS  9 

THE  SPIRIT'S  SYNAXIS  —  Continued:  PAGE 

WITHIN  THE  SHADOW  .....................................  143 

I  FACE  ANOTHER  DAY  ....................................  145 

THE  ORGAN  SWELL: 

PART  I..  KI 


RAGPICKERS     PARTH 


SCIAGRAPHS  OF  THE  TEMPLE  : 

THE  SOUL  WILL  EVER  BE  ................................   169 

WHAT  Is  LIFE  ?  ...........................................  171 

WHAT  Is  MIND  ?  ...........................................  173 

WHAT  Is  SOUL  ?  .........................................   175 

THE  WORLD  Is  SELF  ......................................  176 

CONSECRATION  .............................................  177 

STUDIES  ....................................................  178 

EQUALITY  ..................................................  179 

GROWTH  ...................................................  180 

PROPHECY  .................................................  181 

THE  EVERLASTING  HEART  ................................  182 

THAT  FAITH  THE  BEST  ....................................   184 

THE  CHURCH  OF  CHRIST  ..................................  185 

DEATH  Is  NOT  THAT  I  DIE  ...........................  .  ____  187 

HOME  LIGHTS: 

BABY  .......................................................  191 

AFTER  MAMMA  ............................................  192 

RECONCILIATION  ..............................  j  ............  193 

DEAREST  ...................................................  194 

AFFECTION-PROMPTED  .....................................  195 

MARIANA  ..................................................  196 

LIFE'S  ANGELS  .............................................  198 

L'ENVOI  ..................................................  ,  199 


MARTYRED  HUMANITY  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


PROEM 

THIS  book  hath  not  the  jingle  of  a  bell, 
Nor  yet  the  echoes  caught  from  hill  to  hill; 
It  doth  not  murmur  of  the  woodland's  spell, 
Nor  take  conception  of  pedantic  skill. 

Its  birth  was  offspring  of  my  fitful  muse  — 
As  yet  unthinking  of  the  paths  of  song, 

Feeling  the  one  chance-sentiment  infuse  — 

The  one  strong  impulse  push  my  feet  along. 

For  me,  its  songs  are  living  things  that  hold, 
Each  with  its  mood,  a  consciousness  apart, 

To  be  again,  as  life  would  be  retold, 

The  child-companion  of  the  parent  heart. — 

As  when  of  hope  —  they  seem  to  smile  at  me, 

And  come  as  spirit-children  to  my  arms, 
Kissing  my  soul  as  moonbeams  kiss  the  sea, 

With  soft  endearments  of  celestial  charms. — 

(13) 


14  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

As  when  of  fear  —  ah,  then,  each  face  grows  dark, 
And  unresponsive  lifts  to  me  its  eyes; 

I  hear  no  longer,  then,  the  morning  lark, 
No  longer  toil  expectant  of  the  skies.  — 

But  there  are  days  when  a  new  light  is  seen, 
When  the  indefinite  takes  on  and  on, 

When  there  is  something  in  their  lines,  between, 
That  woos  me  still  to  toil  and  build  upon. 

As  if  conception  had  a  sentient  soul, 

Which  deathless  grew,  as  into  concrete  deed, 

So  that  the  purpose  had  a  human  goal, 

So  that  ambition  sought  a  heavenly  meed. 

As  if  communion  held  between  the  twain  — 
The  deed  and  doer,  still  of  conscious  kind, 

And  every  gift  gave  back  itself,  again, 
As  yet  the  evidence  of  mind  to  mind. 

So  these  have  been  myself  —  and  are,  returned  — 
Wherein  was  done  of  me  the  best  I  knew, 

As  then  slow  reason  saw,  and  faith  discerned, 
And  love  in  its  more  tender  image  grew. 


PROEM 

What  fate  portends  cannot  be  gathered  here; 

As  of  all  life  so  must  the  chance  decide; 
For  me  the  mandate  is :  <(  Thyself  uprear ! }) 

And  here  I  strive  as  of  my  better  side. 

To  what  fair  height  so  shall  my  work  attain, 
The  mind  sees  not,  nor  yet  in  fancy  dreams; 

But  this,  for  certain,  is  the  striver's  gain  — 
A  sweeter  taste  born  of  his  own  racemes. 


O 

V, 


THE  ANTHEM 


*EGO   AND   PSYCHE 


PART    I-THE    PRELUDE 

ONE  lonely  day-close,  as  in  self -lost  dreaming, 
The  twilight  thinning  to  the  midnight  frown, 
Ego  and  Psyche  took  to  lovers'  theming  — 

As  which  should  wear  the  more  bejeweled  crown. 

As  which  —  the  man  or  woman  —  should   be  higher 
In  rank  of  love  —  so  rating  earth's  estate 

That  all  of  worth  held  in  that  one  desire  — 

The  wish  to  find  and,  as  life's  goal,  to  mate.— 

As  which  in  sweeter  sense,  all  else  possessing, 
Had  yet  of  love  —  the  more  to  give  and  take; 

As  thus,  in  consciousness,  the  larger  blessing, 
As  thus,  in  soul,  the  more  of  Self  —  awake. 

And  thus  the  two,  as  with  their  parts  agreeing, 
Invoked  the  muse  in  test  of  which  should  wear, — 

Ego  as  man  —  as  life's  more  sinewed  being, 

And,  for  the  woman,   Psyche  —  the  more  fair. 

Ego  his  harp  attuned  and  sang  as  follows  — 
For  thus  beneath  love  mirrored  of  its  sV^  — 

Sang  of  the  depths  where  yet  the  spirit  hollows, 
Sang  as  the  man  that  felt  what  he  would  try. 


*  Read  «  Preface,*  first  page. 


PART  II -EGO'S  SONG 


MY  HEART  is  fondly  longing, 
And  its  spirit  arms  are  reaching 
For  the  mistress  of  its  fancies, 

And  the  dear  one  of  its  wish ; 
It  is  you  who  are  its  idol, 

And  I  lift  my  voice  beseeching 
For,  now,  to  feel  your  presence, 

And  to  hear  your  garments  swish. 

It  is  thus,  as  roses  blooming, 

That  my  dreams  of  you  are  showing  — 
As  along  the  paths  of  purpose, 

Down  the  vista-realms  of  time; 
For  I  love  you,  and  I  seek  you,  — 

All  my  manhood's  worth  bestowing 
In  a  great  and  mighty  passion  — 

That  makes  life  and  love  sublime. 

O  dear  one,  hear  me  calling! 

Let  your  heart,  its  heaven  bringing, 
Lift  its  voice  in  sweet  consenting 

Till  it  thrills  and  chords  with  mine; 
Come :  —  I  wait  you,   and  I  want  you, 

Give  your  hand  to  me  and,   singing, 
Let  us  journey  on  together  — 

And  forever — down  the  line. 

(20) 


PART  HI-THE  INTERLUDE 


AND  now,  fair  Psyche,  emulous  for  woman, 
And  bowed  in  reverence  to  kiss  her  skirts, 
Upraised  her  harp  and  with  a  sweet  acumen 
Sang  as  if  love  had  thus  its  just  deserts. — 

Sang  as  yet  thinking  man  had  won  the  guerdon, 
For  thus  of  love,  when  true,  is  love's  conceit  — 

To  lighten,  always,  where  it  shares  the  burden, 
To  think  the  other,  always,  the  more  sweet. — 

Sang  as  the  woman,  yet  as  man  conceived  her,— 
Sang  as  in  nature's  harmony  with  him  — 

The  woman  offered  ere  the  world  had  grieved  her, 
The  thirsty  drinking  from  the  dripping  rim. 


(21) 


PART  iv— PSYCHE'S  SONG 


MY  SOUL  hath  heard  the  summons, 
And  hath  gone  to  meet  the  vision 
That  is,  of  him,  the  presence 

Whom  it  chooseth  as  its  mate; 
And  my  woman's  heart,    expectant, 

Thrills  with  dreams  of  life  elysian, 
In  which  thou  art  its  hero, 

And  myself  thy  bride  elate. 

The  stars  have  taught  thy  glory, 

And  the  deeper  sense  of  being 
Hath  long  enshrined  thee  —  worshiped 

In  the  spirit's  secret  fane; 
The  moon  and  sun  have  guided, 

And,   the  earth  and  sea  agreeing, 
My  hope  hath  found  its  crowning, 

And  my  heart,  its  true  domain. 

(<  Take,  then,  unto  thy  bosom !  » — 

It  is  God  who  thus  hath  spoken. 
And  I  yield  me  as  if  heaven 

Sent  its  angels  to  attend; 
Receive  me  as  thou  wiliest, 

And  let  my  kiss  betoken 
That  I  am  come  —  as  seeking  — 

And  to  love  thee  —  to  the  end. 

(22) 


CATHEDRAL  WINDOWS 


(23; 


MARTYRED    HUMANITY 

IT  is  not  true  that  Christ  is  dead  — 
The  martyred  One  of  Calvary, 
Or  that  from  earth  to  heaven  is  fled 

The  fairest  of  humanity. — 
Still  in  our  midst,  in  sweet  disguise, 

In  patient  love  abideth  He; 
He  looketh  out  from  tearful  eyes, 

And  walketh  forth  with  misery. 
In  want  and  care,  the  Lowly  One 

Still  bears  the  cross  of  others'  sin, 
Still  wears  the  thorns  His  brow  upon, 

Still  feels  the  spear  His  side  within. 
Where  proud  oppression  rears  its  throne, 

Where  sordid  wealth  buys  rank  and  place, 
There  still  is  heard  the  Master's  groan, 

There  still  is  seen  His  anguished  face. 
A  thousand  deaths  He  dies  each  day, 

A  thousand  lives  He  lives  again, 
A  thousand  Judas'  still  betray  — 

A  thousand  Marys  mourn  the  Slain! 

(25) 


MAN'S   GENIUSHOOD   IS   CHRIST 


«    A  H,  TRUE,"  I  said,  as  twilight  fell 

f\       On  that  sad  Christmas  day, 
<(To  suffer  is  to  cast  the  shell, 
To  miss  —  to  learn  the  way.® 

I  said,  as  in  the  faith  I  saw, 
Through  pain  and  sorrow  led, 

The  Symboled  Image  of  the  Law, 
Borne  by  the  Sacred  Dead. 

I  saw,  as  never  seen  before, 
By  me,  — the  Spirit  Gift, 

And  felt  my  wounded  soul,  and  sore, 
With  thankfulness  uplift. 

And  then,  through  all  that  fated  life 

I  traced  the  bitter  loss, 
Until  Love  closed  the  awful  strife  — 

The  Conqueror  of  the  Cross. 
(26) 


MAN'S  GENIUSHOOD  IS  CHRIST  27 

'Ah,  true,"  I  cried,  <cthe  Crown  is  there  — 

By  His  example  priced, 
And  all  may  pluck  the  thorns  and  wear  — 

Man's  Geniushood  is  Christ.  * 


CHRIST   BEFORE   PILATE 


(INSPIRED    BY  MUNKACSY'S   CELEBRATED    PAINTING) 


before  Pilate. })  —  Thus  the  title  reads  — 
\^s       By  genius  told — the  Story  of  the  Cross. 
Thus,  from  the  canvas,  living  still,  He  pleads  — 

To  blinded  eyes,  the  symbol  of  our  loss. 
Not  as  the  hero's  deed,  by  death  confessed, 

Not  as  the  plaint  of  time,  on  crime  bestowed, 
But  as  the  better  self  in  every  breast  — 

The  Law  of  God  before  the  Passion's  Code. 

« Christ  before  Pilate. »  —  Is  not  all  the  past 
Thus  set,  exampled  in  the  general  life  ? 
Was  not  this  tale,  in  every  age  recast, 

And  told,  afresh,  in  every  noble  strife  ? 

(28) 


CHRIST   BEFORE   PILATE  29 

And  yet  the  same,  in  all  extremes  of  pride, 
In  every  garb,  in  every  grade  employed  — 

Have  not  the  poor,  the  poorer  yet  denied  ? 
Have  not  the  rich,  the  richer  so  destroyed  ? 

*  Christ  before  Pilate. w  —  Even  thus,  to-day, 

The  world's  cold  edict  strikes  the  loving  down; 
The  Christ  in  all,  we  still  as  all  betray, 

And  place  on  holy  truth  the  thorny  crown. 
Still,  in  His  name  of  names,  the  God  most  high, 

We  shackle  reason  and  obscure  the  light; 
Still,  with  our  schisms,  blur  the  lettered  sky, 

And  Deify  in  all  things  but  the  right. 

«  Christ  before  Pilate. »  —  Ah,  but  not  alone 

In  art  preserved,  we  see  the  Crucified! 
Were  there  no  hearts  still  echoing  the  groan, 

No  gentle  souls  by  cruel  power  tried, 
Had  not  the  shame  been  felt  through  all  the  years, 

And  conscious  pain  still  drunk  the  bitter  cup, 
No  pity,  now,  had  bathed  itself  in  tears, 

Nor  sad  compassion  hung  the  chaplet  up. 


JO  MARTYRED    HUMANITY 

"Christ  beiorc  PH. lie. » — It  there  yet  to  be 

The   se<piel   written   to   tin:,  talc   of   blood? 
Ah,  yes,   I    read   it    in    man's  liberty, 

And    in   the  jjrowiii}1,    knowledge  of   tlie  JMMM!. 
The   dawn    is  near,  predicted    by    the    Seers, 

When   none   shall   sutler  in   the  sacrificed 
As  when    the   Cross,  made  white  with    j-jalelul    tears, 

Shall    symbol    pi.-lice        /VA//V   /v/V/r   Christ! 


T 


Till:    CHRIST    IN    WOMAN 


(AiMA      SAMOAN   IMANDS      •»•>*) 


wo  graves  lie  flattening  by  a  bamboo  porch, 

Two  sisters   pray   before  a   bamboo  shrine; 


Two  of  the  lour  that,  horn  of  holy  church, 
Went    forth    to  sow,   in    savaj-r    lilc,  a  si);n 

A   bamboo  strueture,  thatched   with   cocoa   palm, 
Nigh    when-    the    native    roatl    winds    round    tin- 
shore, 

Is  where  they  dwelt,  these  teachers  of   lilr's   psalm, 
Is   where   they    died,  the    t  w<>   that    went    brloiv. 

A  home  erected  on  unwholesome  ground, 
Shaded,  almost,  to  dreariness  of  nij;ht  ; 

Two  graves  that  show  within  this  narrow  bound, 
Two  hearts  that  kneel,  yet,  at  the  altar's  light.— 


32  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

A  coarse  banana  grove  invests  the  place  — 

Its  fruit  their  nourishment — its  stalks  their  fence; 

Such  is  the  lot  they  chose,   these  two  of  grace, 
Without  a  hope  of  earthly  recompense. 

They  were  but  women,  but  in  trust  they  came, 
These  four,  alone,  to  educate  for  God; 

To  plant  the  light  of  reason  in  His  name, 
And  wake  the  soul  still  sleeping  in  its  sod. 

But  all  dependent,  save  as  faith  should  win, 

As  love  gave    strength,    and   good   worked   out 
sustained ; 

They  came,  self-offered,  to  these  haunts  of  sin, 
The  Christ  in  Woman  — of  the  Cross  ordained 


SONG 


one  breath  in  the  mortal 
1         That  is  of  the  heart  distinct, 
The  one  note  that,  beyond  the  portal, 
Is  with  all  voices  linked, — 

It  lies  so,  in  all  singers  — 

This  subtler  sense  of  things  — 
That  to  the  soul  —  of  all  tnith-bringers, 

Song  is  consciousness  of  wings. 

(33) 


FINGER-GUIDES 


No  ONE  road  to  Heaven  leadeth, 
Nor  to  God,  however  straight; 
«  Round  and  round, »  the  Night-watch  readeth, 
"Stars  do  journey  to  their  fate." 

Weary  Soul,  the  Wise  have  said  it; 

Let  resolve  thy  burdens  bear; 
With  the  Night  be  up,  nor  dread  it  — 

All  of  worth  is  born  of  care, 
i 

Work  and  hope,  for  Time  is  gifted, 
And  its  joys  shall  yet  be  thine; 

Life  is  by  its  work  uplifted, 
And  by  hope  is  made  divine! 

(34) 


FINGER-GUIDES 


35 


Thus  the  goal  of  rest  is  certain; 

And  though  mists  should  spread  between, 
There,  beyond  the  City's  curtain, 

Lie  the  uplands,  fresh  and  green. 

Visions  sad  are  all  around  us; 

Yet,  though  Fate  thus  sore  betides, 
Where  the  crossroads  would  confound  us 

God  has  set  the  finger-guides. 


DISAPPOINTMENTS 


DISAPPOINTMENTS  are  life's  turnings, 
And  to  those,  the  wise  of  earth, 
Are  but  seen  as  spirit-yearnings, 
Angel-ushered  into  birth. 

Oft,  when  dreams  are  rudely  shattered, 
As  when  love  denies  its  troth, 

And  when  all  is  lost  that  mattered, 
Takes  the  soul  a  larger  growth. 

Thus  the  spirit  craves  the  better, 
And  where  fleshly  tastes,  perverse, 

Would  its  holier  instincts  fetter 
With  a  striving  for  the  worse — 


DISAPPOINTMENTS  37 

Comes,  as  bar,  the  unexpected, 

Comes,  as  weighed,  the  aftermath, 

And  the  soul,  before  deflected, 
Takes  its  own  —  the  truer  path. 

Aspirations  and  desires 

Are,  in  all  they  seek,  opposed, — 
One  the  road  to  heaven  inquires, 

One  is  by  the  earth  inclosed. 

Thus,  perversely  and  in  blindness, 

Oft  the  baser  path  is  trod, 
Until  sorrows,  meant  in  kindness, 

Turn  the  straying  feet  to  God. 

Sad-eyed  mortal,  doubt  not  longer  — 
Hath  thy  fondest  hopes  been  vain, 

But  with  purer  faith,  and  stronger, 
Take  the  upward  path  again. 


SPIRIT  LANES 


(39) 


THE  SPIRIT'S   THEME 


WHO  here  shall  have  read,  let  him  read  again, 
As  yet  of  these  songs  to  see 
If  the  deeper  sense  of  the  world's  refrain 
Lives  not  in  their  minstrelsy;  — 

Lives  not  as  prelude  and  hint  of  much 

That  subsequent  years  will  show, 
When  distance,  between,  shall  have  palsied  the  touch 

That  rhythmed  their  conscious  flow ;  — 

Lives  not  as  the  picture  of  Life's  affairs, 

As  framed  of  the  older  land,— 
The  same  bright  fancies — the  same  dull  cares, 

But  never  the  same  one  hand;  — 

Never,  the  same !  —  however  alike 

The  air  and  the  sense  may  seem, 
No  two  with  the  same  set  strain  shall  strike 

The  harp  of  the  spirit's  theme. 

(41) 


THE   THREE   WISHES 


THERE  sat  three  men  at  the  roadside, 
Where,   rounding  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
The  road  went  down  to  the  city,  — 
To  its  clatter  of  wagon  and  mill. 
They  were  weary  with  travel,  yet  gladsome, 

For  there,  at  their  feet,   was  the  scene 
For  which  they  had  left  the  old  home-ties, 
And  traversed  the  long  miles  between. 

Said  one,   <(  Let  us  wish  for  good-luck's  sake, 
Since,   so  nearly,  our  goal  is  at  hand, 

And  as  first,   and  to  set  the  example, 

I  will  wish  for  the  whole  of  the  land, — 

For  its  houses  and  all  things  within  them, 
And  for  all  of  its  wealth  at  command. }> 

Said  the  second,   replying,   <(  So  wishing, 

You  give  me  the  right  to'  be  free, 
And  so,  and  to  match  your  example, 

I  will  wish  for  the  whole  of  the  sea, — 
For  its  vessels  and  all  things  within  them, 

And  for  all  of  its  wealth  that  may  be." 

(42) 


THE   THREE    WISHES  43 

Said  the  third,  <(  This  will  show  what  the  world  is, 
And  whereto  its  quest  would  have  led; 

You  have  taken  the  whole  earth  between  you, 
And  for  me,   what  is  left, —  but,  instead, 

To  wish, —  as  in  turn  the  world  wishes,— 
To  wish  you,  its  greedy  ones, —  dead  ?  w 

Then  up  spake  his  child  —  the  first  wisher's  — 

Half  orphan,  as  there  sitting  by, 
And  said  — (<  Papa  dear, }) —  the  sob  rising, 

And  the  shine  of  a  tear  in  each   eye, — 
<(  Had  the  wish  of  your  heart  been  for  heaven, 

No  one  had  then  wished  you  to  die ! }> 


THE   ANGEL-AGE 


As  ONCE,  at  the  close  of  a  summer  day, 
I  sat  in  the  window,  musing  — 
Musing  of  love  and  its  wistful  way, 
Of  life  and  its  fateful  choosing  — 

I  heard  in  the  parlor's  curtained  gloom 

A  sigh  on  the  silence  breaking, 
And,  turning,  glanced  through  the  spacious  room, 

As  one  in  a  sudden  waking. 

And  there,  in  the  mirror's  dark  recess, 

And  just  where  the  day's  slant  ended, 
I  saw  my  child,  in  a  sunlit  dress, 

Stand  forth  where  the  shadows  blended, 
(44) 


THE   ANGEL-AGE 

And  I  saw  a  look  in  her  pure  blue  eyes 
Unnoting  where  I  sat,  leaning, 

That  caused  me,  with  gentle  speech,  to  rise 
And,  nearing  her,  ask  its  meaning. 

And  this  she  answered  me, — "Papa  dear" 
(My  daughter  was  not  yet  seven), 

<(I  see  a  snow-white  angel  here  — 
Just  as  they  are  in  Heaven. }> 

And  thus,  I  mused,  as  I  gazed  with  her 
Deep  into  the  mirror's  gloaming, 

How  many,  in  older  forms,  there  were 
In  the  angel's  garment  roaming! 

How  many  might  say,  at  the  mirror  near, 
Who  numbered  their  seven  times  seven, 

<(  I  see  a  snow-white  angel  here  — 
Just  as  they  are  in  Heaven  !}> 


45 


KITE   FLYING 


ONE  afternoon,  in  summer's  heat, 
I  sought  the  ruffled  sea; 
Not  where  the  billows  beat  the  crags, 

Nor  woo  the  sturdy  tree, 
But  o'er  the  meadow's  open  way, 
Where  tempered  wind  and  sun 
Give  nature's  heart  a  bolder  beat, 
And  life  a  freer  run. 


There,  chancing  round  a  grassy  knoll, 

I  came  upon  a  child, 
Who  with  a  far-off,  swaying  kite 

Her  young  desires  beguiled; 
Just  then  she  fixed  upon  the  string 

A  tiny  paper  spray, 
That,  whirling  from  her  dimpled  hand, 

Flew  upward  and  away. 
(46) 


KITE   FLYING  47 

(<  What  are  you  doing,  little  one  ? )} 

I  said,  as  drawing  near 
I  caught  her  startled,  upward  glance, 

Dimmed  with  a  pearly  tear; 
<(  What  means  the  little  paper  waif 

You  sent  but  now  abroad  ? w 
<(  For  mother, }>  said  the  little  one, 

<(  A  message  sent  to  God ! }) 

(<It  is  my  brother's  kite,"  she  said, 

<(  He  fixed  it  here  but  now, 
And  sent  a  letter  up  himself, 

And  then  he  showed  me  how; 
If  you  would  like  to  send  one,  too, 

The  good  God  still  is  there, 
And  He  will  know  to  whom  you  write 
And  just  how  much  you  care.** 

I  thanked  the  little  woman -child, 
Though  with  a  troubled  mien, 

For  there  had  flashed  upon  my  mind 
The  past  as  it  Tiad  been, — 


48  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

In  bold  relief,  I  saw  my  life 

Ranged  downward  to  its  youth, 

And  in  my  inner  consciousness 
There  poured  the  light  of  truth. 

And  thus  I  saw  man's  mounting  schemes, 

Were  but  so    many  kites, 
That  traversed,  to  their  strings  below, 

Miscalculated  heights ;  — 
And  that  his  deeds  all  challenged  thought 

To  censure  or  applaud, 
As  waifs  that  fluttered  up  the  lines 

As  messages  to  God. 


UPSIDE   DOWN 


I   WROTE,  one  Sabbath  day,  to  please  a  child  — 
My  travel-weariness  by  her  beguiled; 
Distant  from  home,  her  father's  honored   guest, 
I  yielded  gladly  to  her  sweet  request. 

But,  when  I  took  the  book  she  swiftly  brought, 
Prepared  to  use   the  blank  leaf  for  my  thought, 
She  broke  into  a  laugh,  then,  with  a  frown, 
And  pointing  to  the  book,  said :  — (<  Upside  down ! }> 

Roused  by  the  sound,  my  languid  Muse  awoke, 
And  seized  the  words  the  little  fairy  spoke. 

Upside  down,"  says  little  Lighthair, 

From  Truth's  deep  well  a  thoughtless  sup, 

For  she  knows  not,  in  this  world  of  care, 
That  there  is  nothing  right  side  up. 

4  (49) 


5o  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

O  sweet  little  friend,  if  I  really  knew, 
I  would  not  sing  of  what  was  to  be; 

Some  things  God  meant  you,  alone,  to  do, 

And  better  that  some  He,  alone,  should  see. 

If  pain  awake  to  sorrow  and  tears, 

Knowledge  of  pleasure  must  come  before; 

Between  the  two  lies  the  value  of  years, 
And  this  leads  up  to  an  open  door  — 

For  time  will  come  when  a  larger  sup, 
The  false  and  bitter  alike  will  drown, 

And  fashion  a  spirit  right  side  up, 

From  the  mortal  buried  —  upside  down! 


THE   PENNY  OF   CUSTOM 


SHE  fell  through  an  upper  window, 
And  the  mother   who  saw  her  fall, 
Rushed,  with  a  horrified  wailing, 
Out  from  the  under  wall. 


«She  is  dead!    She  is  dead!    My  darling! 

She  is  dead  — O  God,  she  is  dead!" 
And  the  child,  caught  up  to  her  bosom, 

Heard  the  burden  of  woe  and  said:  — 

(<  If  I  am  dead,  dear  Mammie, 

Will  you  close  my  eyes,  as  you  did 
The  eyes  of  dear  little  Sammy, 

With  a  penny  upon  each  lid  ? 

(SO 


52  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

*I  want  to  call  the  angels 
To  take  me  up  to  the  skies, 

And  I  could  not  see  them,  Mammie, 
If  you  were  to  shut  my  eyes!" 

Alas!  —  of  the  penny  of  custom, 

There  is  weight  on  the  lids  of  us  all 

That  blind  to  the  angels  that  pass  us, 
To  the  blessings  their  presence  let  fall. 


THE   SMOKE   WILL   ASCEND 

BURNING  so  whitely,  O  candle  of  mine, 
Lifting  the  shadows  so  stilly  and  dark, 
Molding  dumb  thought  into  scintillate  line, 
Am  I  not  giving  thee  spark  for  spark  ? 
Strange  that  existence  should  glimmer  like  thee — 

Wasting  in  light  to  its  socket — the  sod, 
Passing  away  —  as  the  breath  of  the  sea, 
Dying  —  a  flame  for  the  studies  of  God! 

Burning  so  whitely,  so  coldly  and  pure  — 

Down  to  thine  ending,  insensible  light, 
Hast  thou  an  essence  still  left  to  endure  ? 

Hath  life  a  being  thus  winged  for  its  flight? 
Hark!     There  is  voice  in  the  candle's  last  flare, 

Waving  reply  to  the  question  of  doubt, 
Tracing  its  sense  in  dim  spirals  of  air  — 

<(The  smoke  will  ascend  as  the  wick  is  burned 
out!* 

(53) 


PSYCHE 


A  LITTLE  rose  grew, 
Of  the  lily's  hue, 

On  a  storm-swept  rock  in  the  sea; 
And  I  gathered  the  flower, 
In  a  shipwrecked  hour, 
That  it  might  be  as  hope  to  me. — 

And  I  gathered  the  roots, 

And  their  tender  shoots, 
And  the  cupful  of  earth  where  they  clung 

And  now  it  is  growing — 

As  here  it  hath  showing  — 
The  treasure  my  treasures  among. 

(54) 


THE   OMEN 


NOT  for  me  the  dread  Hereafter, 
Nor  the  shrinking  at  the  Gate, 
Nor  the  clinging  to  earth's  laughter, 
As  of  man's  but  one  estate. 

I  have  faith  in  the  Immortal, 
I  believe  in  God,  and,  nigh, 

I  shall  enter  at  the  portal 
Of  the  Spirit,  when  I  die. 

Life  is  sweet,  with  all  its  sorrow, 

And  its  hope  hath  promise  been, 
That  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 

I  should  enter  —  farther  in. 

(55) 


56  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

I  was  sitting,  when  I  wrote  this, 
In  the  open,  by  a  stream, 

And  the  sequel   that  I  quote,  is 
Like  the  omen  of  my  theme. 


From  a  tree   that  stood  beside  me, 
Fell  a  black  and  leafless  limb; 

Fell,  as  if  to  mock  or  chide  me, 
Or  as  sign  direct  from  Him! 

Not  a  wrench   or  sound  of  breaking, 
Not  a  blow  —  to  cause  its  fall, 

But  the  sudden,  swift  forsaking 
Of  its  comrades  —  that  was  all! 

Yet  the  limb,  caught  by  the  river, 
Sailed  away  upon  its  tide; 

And  I  marveled  if  the  Giver 

Thus  affirmed  me  —  or  denied! 


THE    IDOL   KEPT   WHOLE 

«  T  DOLS  by  time  are  broken ! }> — 

1       Nay,  not  when  of  years  and  of  years; 
The  break  may  be  seen  in  the  token, 

But  not  in  the  worth  it  uprears. 
For  not  is  life's  trust  of  the  brittle  — 

As  of  merely  the  shape  of  the  stone, 
Nor  yet  of  what  makes  for  the  little, 

As  of  clay  that  the  soul  must  disown. 
The  bust  from  its  shrine  may  dissever, 

And  yet  there  shall  hold  without  scathe, 
The  purpose  behind  the  endeavor, 

The  shrine  that  was  framed  of  its  faith. 

<(  Idols  by  time  are  broken !  w — 

Nay,  not  when  of  love  and  of  love  — 

Of  the  heart  as  its  better  self  spoken, 
Of  the  faith  that  would  lift  above; 

Of  these,  is  the  strength  that  sustains  us, 
Is  the  sight  that,  beyond  and  beyond, 

(57) 


MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Sees,  ever,  the  pledge  that  restrains  us  — 
The  pledge  to  which  love  is  in  bond. 

For  thus  do  our  idols  remind  us, — 
That  whereto  the  ultimate  should, 

The  bad  shall  be  always  behind  us, 
And  always  before  us,  the  good. 

(<  Idols  by  time  are  broken ! }> — 

Nay,  not  when  of  soul  and  of  soul; 
The  worship  whereof  they  are  token, 

Is  always  —  The  Idol  Kept  Whole. 
The  human,  at  touch,  may  still  crumble, 

The  form  fall  away  as  we  near, 
Because  it  is  we  who  would  stumble, 

Ourselves  that  we  cease  to  revere; 
But  when,  of  the  soul,  there  is  surance, 

The  idols  we  rear  are  of  God;  — 
Of  Him,  their  immortal  endurance, 

Of  ourselves,  the  grace  we  applaud. 


THE   UNIVERSAL   BIRTH 

A  WAVE  of  thought  is  speeding 
Around  the  peopled  earth, 
As  Heaven's  Archangel  leading 

The  Universal  Birth; 
Through  all  the  speech  of  nations, 

Through  all  the  walks  of  man, 
To  high  and  lowly  stations, 

To  every  tribe  and  clan, 
It  stirs  the  freighted  ocean, 

It  wakes  the  desert  plain, 
One  holy,  swift  emotion 

Through  all  the  soul's  domain.  — 

All  ears,  conceiving,  listen, 

All  hearts,  receiving,  thrill, 
All  eyes,  perceiving,  glisten, 

All  breasts,  upheaving,  still; 

(59; 


60  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

A  pause,  expectant,  flutters 

O'er  all  of  human  strife, 
And  every  conscience  utters 

The  impulse  into  life. 
Hurrah!     The  Twentieth  Luster! 

All  hail  its  coming  light! 
All  hopes  around  it  cluster  — 

God's  freedom  for  the  Right. 


SENTIMENT   AND  GOD 


NOT  on  peaks  do  seasons  dally 
With  the  sun  and  rain, 
On  the  plain  and  in  the  valley 

Grows  the  golden  grain; 
Up  the  mountains  climb  no  flowers  — 

Down  the  steep  decline 
Only  rush  the  torrent  showers, 
Through  the  gloomy  pine. 

Not  on  lofty  hills  nor  levels 

Grow  the  grasses  green, 
Where  the  mists  lie,  summer  revels  — 

Hedge  and  brook  between. 
Would  you  learn  what  this  discloses?  — 

Life  is  in  the  sod; 
All  of  hope  in  this  reposes  — 

Sentiment  and  God! 

(61) 


THREE   MILLS* 


«  rnpHREE    MILLS  w  to  bury  the  dead! 

1         Ah,  what  a  tale  they  tell, 
With  never  a  sermon  said, 

With  never  a  funeral  bell! 
Dead  as  the  pauper  dies, 

Or  as  the  poor  unknown, 
With  never  a  plea  to  the  skies, 

With  never  a  marking  stone. 

"Three  mills"  to  bury  the  dead! 

No,  not  to  bury  them  quite; 
But  thus  is  the  story  read 

That  hurries  them  out  of  sight; — 


*  Three-tenths  of  a  cent  — the  price  bid  by  an  undertaker  (and  accepted) 
under  sealed  proposals,  for  burying  the  unclaimed  dead  of  a  great  city. 
(62) 


THREE  MILLS  63 

The  mask  of  a  public  shame, 

The  deed  of  unfeeling  life  — 
Unheeded  a  brother's  claim, 

Unpitied  the  closing  strife. 

*  Three  mills })  to  bury  the  dead  ! 

Ah,  whence  is  the  body  borne? 
Ask  of  the  leaf  that  is  shed, 

Of  the  rose  from  its  setting  torn. 
The  dead  in  poverty  sinned, 

Of  want  there  is  left  but  its  crust, 
So  bury  the  poor  in  the  wind, 

And  write  their  names  in  the  dust. 


PENURY 


CRUEL  tmkindness, 
Born  of  earth's  blindness, 
Not  of  its  heart; 
Means  there  are,  plenty, 
But  not  one  in  twenty 
Giveth  his  part. 

Shall  the  world  wake  at  last, 
All  its  uncharity  past, 

Starving  not,  giving? 
As  though  God  were  near, 
As  though,  beyond  the  bier, 

The  soul  had  its  living  ? 

Might  must  essay  the  task, 
Numbers  are  needed; 

Those  who  are  strong  should  ask 

The  weak  are  unheeded. 
(64) 


PENURY  65 

Christ  still  upbears  the  cross, 

Mary  still  prays, 
Judas  still  counts  his  dross, 

Pilate  still  slays! 

Watchman,  Arouse  the  night! 
Ring  out  the  bold  affright! 

Wake  every  sleeper! 
Bodings  of  dread  are  near, 
Voiced  by  the  sage  and  seer — 

God  is  the  Weeper! 


PASS   ON! 


I  SAW  last  night  at  a  party  — 
A  dinner  in  Savoy's  best, 
The  Genius  of  mirth  embodied 

In  an  odd  little  human  breast; 
In  a  form  arrested  and  broken 

By  fate's  indiscriminate  hand, 
Yet  leaving  the  soul  as  of  stature, 
And  the  better  of  self  in  command. 

The  vision  of  life  thus  deflected — 

Gracing  the  feast  of  the  night, 
Followed  me  back  to  my  lodgings, 

And  stood  as  an  angel  of  light; 
Stood,  as  I  sat  and  pondered, 

Until,  from  the  dark  evolved, 
I  saw  the  blend  of  the  picture 

Into  its  tints  resolved. 

(66) 


PASS  ON  67 

I  saw  the  dwarf  and  cripple, 

The  deaf,  and  dumb,  and  blind; 
Those  whom  oppression  blighted, 

And  those  whom  fortune  dined; 
The  strong,  erect,  and  handsome, 

The  homely,  weak,  and  bent, 
The  love-caressed  and  lighted, 

The  passion-scarred  and  spent, 

And  said :  (<  Had  lives  been  equal, 

Would  life  have  known  a  zest  ? 
Or  had  earth  held  forever, 

Would  man  have  been  earth-blest  ?  * 
This  said,  the  thought  I  pondered, 

Until  the  mind  rehearsed 
All  of  its  own  life's  promptings  — 

The  visions  it  had  nursed, 

The  loves  bestowed  and  tasted, 

The  ventures  lost  and  won, 
Its  poverty  and  its  riches, 

Its  midnight  and  its  sun, 
And,  through  it  all,  the  longing — 

With  every  dream  alloyed, 


68  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

The  longing  for  the  real  life 
Still  in  the  world's  wide  void. 

Then,  as  the  night  grew  ashen, 

In  the  first  faint  streaks  of  dawn, 
I  saw,  with  clearer  vision, 

The  truth  as  under- drawn, 
And  saw  that  death  was  mercy, 

And  that  the  good  God  planned, 
For,  thus,  the  birth  of  a  soul-form 

As  shaped  by  its  human  hand. — 

For  always  the  larger  power 

As  yet  of  life's  joy  and  woe  — 
For  a  "me®  in  infinite  changes 

As  wrought  of  life's  ebb  and  flow. 
And  I  saw  that  the  spark  eternal 

Was  struck  from  the  one  great  Soul, 
And  that  the  <(  I  Am  »  of  the  human 

Was  alike  in  each  heart's  role. 

And  that,  however  shapen, 

Or  voiced  by  the  burdened  breast, 

There  was,  for  all  who  sought  it, 
The  heaven  of  the  blest. 


PASS  ON  69 

And  now,  as  the  morning  broadened, 
And  the  duties  of  day  drew  near, 

I  saw,  as  I  opened  the  shutters, 
The  answer  thus  made  clear: 

There  is,  for  the  vile  —  repugnance, 

There  is,  for  the  cruel  —  pain, 
For  the  heartless  rich  —  disaster, 

And  for  the  proud  —  disdain! 
But,  for  the  loving,  always, 

Who  suffer  and  grow  strong, 
There  is  the  nearer  heaven, 

There  is  the  fuller  song. 

How  else  would  wrong  be  righted  — 

With  still  the  bent  in  all, 
Save  as  should  Death  the  wrappings,  cut, 

That  held  the  soul  in  thrall  ? 
How  else  were  life  eternal  — 

Knowing  an  infinite  range, 
Save  as  should  Death  be  torch -bearer 

Through  a  round  of  change? 

And  who  would  be  mortal  always? 
Who  would  grow  old,  and  old? 


MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

For  time  would  be  told  in  its  feelings, 

If  not  in  its  wrinkles  told; 
Told  in  its  shame  and  sorrow, 

If  not  in  its  palsied  limb; 
In  the  care  lines  on  the  forehead, 

If  not  in  the  sight  grown  dim. 

And  the  world  —  ah,  who  would  possess  it? 

Who  but  the  strongest  and  first  — 
The  hardest  of  heart,  and  the  meanest, 

The  loveless,  the  faithless, —  accurst? 
No!  none  may  recall  the  departed; 

No  mortal  may  stay  if  he  would, — 
<(  Pass  on!"  is  the  mandate  eternal, 

Alike  to  the  vile  and  the  good. 

<(  Pass  on ! w  thou  pampered  and  feted, 

(<  Pass  on!w  thou  wretched  and  shamed, — 
For  all,  there  is  yet  the  reversion, 

Whereof  shall  be  justice  proclaimed; 
There  is  yet  for  existence  its  heaven, 

And  the  infinite  deathless  in  God;  — 
<(  Pass  on!"  the  grave  is  life's  portal, 

And  the  crown  is  where  angels  applaud, 


WHAT  WISDOM   SAITH 


I   ASKED  of  Wisdom,  climbing  high 
Above  the  heads  of  men, 
What  was  there  in  the  farther  sky 

Revealed  unto  his  ken  ? 
He  said,  as  pointing  where  he  saw 

The  paths  by  genius  trod, 
(<  The  truth  in  universal  law  — 
The  Fatherhood  of  God.* 

I  asked  again,  as  most  of  worth 

For  Wisdom  to  discern, 
What  was  there    in  the  rounded  earth 

The  one  thing  I  should  learn  ? 
He  said,  as  climbing  still  above, 

He  saw  the  heavenly  plan, 
<(  The  truth  in  universal  love  — 

The  Brotherhood  of  Man." 


MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

I  asked  again,  what  Wisdom  found, 

As  shown  of  nature's  strife, 
That  fixed,  as  one  eternal  round, 

The  soul's  immortal  life  ? 
He  said,  as  still  above  he  stood, 

(<The  cross  for  all  sufficed, 
The  truth  in  universal  good  — 

The  Spirithood  of  Christ. » 


MEMORIAL  HALL 


(73) 


RETROSPECTION 

SOME  scenes,  remembered  of  a  buried  life, 
Are  here  reset  in  honor  of  the  past; 
Some  grew  in  verse,  the  offspring  of  the  time, 
That  since  have  faded  in  devouring  flame, 
And  left  no  trace  to  start  or  nurture  thought. 
The  blame  is  this,  if  some  these   rhymes  neglect, 
For  gifts  of  love  bear  interest  in  kind, 
And  I  would  now  pay  usury. 

Man  lives 

In  spots,  and  grows  by  jerks;  existence,  else, 
A  stay  or  pause.     The  soul,  in  some  old  rut, 
Is  ever  hardening  with  an  outer  shell;  — 
This  cracked  and  cast  aside,  an  instant  sees 
The  soul  the  double  of  its  former  self. 
These  shells,  preserved,  may  still  a  worth  disclose  — 
Some  beauty  yet  develop,  or,  as  held 
To  listening  ear,  some  note  betray  of  song. 

(75) 


76 


MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

Begotten  such  had  I,  or  thought  I  had, 
In  casts  that  gave  a  hundred  tunes  to  love, 
And  linked  my  fairer,  former  selves  to  life. 
All  were  consumed;  and  at  this  distance  I 
Still  mourn,  unreconciled,  as  for  the  dead, — 
Though,  for  a  time,  their  ashes  seemed  a  sign. 


SO   SHALL   LOVE   BE 

LOVE  is  the  nightingale  that  sings  to  me, 
When  the  spent  day  goes  out  beyond  the 

night, 

And  wafts  my  soul  through  realms  of  mystery, 
A  meteor-dream  soft  trailing  through  delight.— 

Or,  yet,  the  lark  that,  with  the  dawn  of  day, 
Awakes  my  soul  to  view  the  freshened  earth. 

Glad  with  the  thrilling  power  of  its  sway, 

As  with  the  consciousness  of  heavenly  birth. 

So  shall  love  be,  when  heard  the  angel  choir, 

As  life  shall  come  unto  the  Open  Gate, 
The  music  of  the  heart's  immortal  lyre, 

Wherewith  the  spirit  shall  encounter  fate. 

(77) 


SHORT   AND  SWEET 


(IMPROMPTU) 

SAID  a  brown-eyed  maiden,  laughing, 
<(  Write  me  something  short  and  sweet ;  w 
Said,  as  if  she  were  but  chaffing, 
Yet  as  though  she  did  entreat. 

Brown-eyed  maiden,  thus  I  write  you, 
Laughing  back  your  light  request; 

Love  shall,  one  day,  thus  requite  you. 
Under  pretense  of  a  jest. 

Watch  out!  if  you  would  be  wary, 
Warned,  you  still  may  beat  retreat; 

Maiden,  of  your  smiles  be  chary, 
Love  is  never  <(  short  and  sweet. w 

(78) 


IN   RETURN   FOR  A  ROSE 


FAIR  LADY:  —  The  flowers  I  send  thee 
Are  the  heart's  silent  tribute  to  grace; 
May  their  beauty  a  happiness  lend  thee, 

Their  fragrance  a  memory  trace 

Of  worth  that  would  ever  defend  thee, 

Of  love  that  would  ever  embrace. 

They  come  as  a  pledge  of  devotion  — 
As  the  pleadings  of  hope  —  unto  thee; 

Exhaling  the  depths  of  emotion 

So  stirred  by  thy  dear  gift  to  me  — 

The  depths  —  ah   yes,  of  an  ocean 
That  tides  with  the  uttermost  sea. 

Fair  lady:  —  Afar-off  I  greet  thee, 

As  a  dream  that  lies  yet  in  its  sleep; 

Awaking  —  ah,  how  shall  I  meet  thee  — 
Or  is  it  to  smile  or  to  weep? 

Or  is  it  that  love  may  entreat  thee  — 
Or  that  but  a  rose  I  may  keep  ? 

(79) 


A  BIRTHDAY  GIFT 

THIS  book,  the  author  famed  and  great, 
Here  marks  thy  annual  setting  sun; 
A  statement  which  is  formulate, 
Quite  algebraic,  <(x  plus  one.* 

Let  «x»  be  substitute  for  age, 

Or  yet  for  love — its  dream  of  good, 

The  first  solution  must  engage 

A  sum  unknown,  whate'er  we  would. 

Alas,  that  «x,»  with  equal  truth, 

Should  symbol  fate,  when  life  is  done; 
But  let  us  hope  a  second  youth 

Will  make  the  statement  still  —  "plus  one.}) 
(80) 


WORTH    CONFESSED 


(WRITTEN    IN    A    COPY    OF    BRET    HARTE'S    WORKS) 


**"po    YOU,  dear  friends,   this  book  is  come, 

As  here  in  form  addressed, 
A  tribute  to  your  gracious  home, 
And  to  your  worth  confessed. 


I  send  it  in  the  hope  that  when  — 
And  often  may  it  be  — 

You  read  its  title,  you  shall,  then, 
As  often  think  of  me. 


(81) 


THE   SOUVENIR   OF   A   DAY 
PART  I -THE   INSPIRATION 

«T   DARE  you,*  said  a  dainty  girl  — 

1       One  of  those  woman -misses, 
Whose  graces  are  as  hair  in  curl, 
And  speech  as  rhythmic  kisses; 

Whose  dress  and  air  affect  the  queen, 
And,  yet,  whose  smiles  and  blushes, 

Like  love-thoughts  under  veil  are  seen- 
As  lilies  under  rushes. 

*  I  dare  you  write  to  me  in  rhyme  — 

They  say  you  are  a  poet, 
And  you  have  known  us  such  a  time  — 

How  mean  of  you!  —  but  show  it! — 

<(Show  that  you  are,  indeed,  a  bard 
(The  muse  but  here  rehearses), 
And  write  me,   with  all  due  regard, 

A  set  of  pretty  verses. 
(82) 


THE  SOUVENIR  OF  A  DAY  83 

*  You  dare  ? w  I  said,  <(  when  this  is  where 
The  heart  must  stake  upon  it  ? 

So  be  it.»     Well,  I  wrote— «  The  Dare,» 
And  later  on— «  The  Sonnet. » 


THE   DARE 

DARE  pitched  a  rider  in  the  ditch, 
Dare  got  a  thief  in  trouble; 
Dare  filled  the  consecrated  niche, 
Dare  made  a  fortune  double; 
Dare  widowed  a  fond  woman's  heart, 

Dare  won  a  maiden's  plighting, 

Dare  gave  the  fool  his  lasting  smart, 

And  now  drives  me  to  writing. 


THE  SONNET  — TO   FAY 


WHEN  after  years,  in  colder  climes, 
Recall    the    dream's    bright    glances 

wove, 
And  memory,  with  her  thousand  chimes, 

Awakes  the  ghosts  of  buried  love; 
When  backward,  o'er  the  track  of  time, 

My  saddened  thoughts  return  to  muse, 
And  each  sweet  spot,  embalmed  in  rhyme, 

Assumes  again  the  olden  hues; 
O  deem  it  not  a  wanton  play 

Of  fancy  o'er  the  poet's  skill, 
That  I  shall  fondly  picture  — «  Fay, » 
And  linger  long  at  —  Fayetteville. 

When  traveled  years  a  genial  glow 

Diffuse  around  the   winter's  hearth, 
And  licensed  age,  with  locks  of  snow, 

Becomes  a  child  in  childish  mirth, 

(84) 


SONNET  — TO  FAY  85 

When,  garrulous  to  listening  youth, 

There  lives  as  yet  by  care  unvexed, 
I  hold  my  wisdom  up  for  truth, 

And  make  my  life  the  constant  text, 
Be  sure  the  loosened  tongue  will  stray 

Throughout  the  happy  past,  at  will, 
And  come,  with  pride,  to  falter — "Fay," 

And  babble  tales  of  —  Fayetteville. 

And  when,  at  last,  the  tolling  bell 

Proclaims  the  vital  spark  is  fled, 
And  through  the  nave  the  organ's  swell 

Breaks  on  the  last  rites  of  the  dead; 
When,  bursting  through  its  troubled  dream, 

My  pain-awakened  soul  descries 
The  rays  of  truth,  eternal,  gleam 

Athwart  its  space-defying  eyes, 
Be  sure,  e'en  then,  it  will  obey 

The  laws  of  its  own  nature,  still, 
And  find  one  chord  of  bliss  in  — <(  Fay, )} 

One  foot  of  Heaven  in — Fayetteville. 


AFTER   THE   OPERA 


(IMPROMPTU) 


As  FROM  the  opera  home  returned, 
My  soul  in  song  uplifted  far, 
I  sought  my  room,  alone  to  muse, 
And,  careless,  left  the  door  ajar, 

There,  posed  in  silence,  soon  I  heard 
The  breezy  ripple  —  woman  sprung, 

And  gathered  near,  for  light  repast 
And  cozy  gossip,  those  who  sung. 

Unminded  by  propriety, 

As  in  a  public  house  we  were, 

And  feeling  thus  the  pleasure  grow, 
So  late  vouchsafed,  I  did  not  stir. 

Unheard  since  then,  I  still  but  knew 

The  sweeter  voices  in  their  parts,— 
The  saucy  Nancy  making  fun, 

The  loving  Martha  winning  hearts, - 
(86) 


AFTER   THE   OPERA  87 

When  lo!  as  if  he  were  a  part 

Of  the  bright  life  in  which  they  grew, 
They  question  made  of  stranger  guest, 

And  sought  reply  of  those  who  knew. 

Judge  of  the  sudden,  sweet  surprise, 
The  after-thought  of  conscious  shame, 

When,  innocent  of  others  near, 

They  for  a  moment  breathe  my  name! 

Then  Love,  who  wandered  aimless  forth, 
Drew  near,  enamored  of  a  (<  star, )J 

And  seeking  lodgings  in  my  soul 
Left,  wide,  its  spirit-door  ajar. 

There -through,  while  he  in  worship  bends, 

And  kisses  oft  his  idol's  hem, 
The  music  steals  of  one  dear  voice 

That  bolt  and  bar  may  never  stem. 


STORY  CHIMES 


O  DREAM  of  youth  and  distant  time, 
Of  southern  land  and  flowers, 
Of  pure  blue  eyes,  of  tender  rhyme, 

Of  walks  and  leafy  bowers ;  — 
We  gather  moss  and  mistletoe, 

In  sweet  unconscious  longing; 
We  scent  the  rich  magnolia-blow, 
With  never  thought  of  wronging; 

We  search  the  deeper  forest  shades, 

And  find  their  hidden  treasures; 
We  thread  the  river's  stillest  glades, 

And  catch  its  sweetest  measures; 
We  watch  the  two  wild  currents  cross. 

That  strangely  never  mingle; 
And  each  the  wish-fraught  flowers  toss, 

To  see  how  fate  shall  single. — 

(88) 


STORY   CHIMES  89 

How  if  the  currents,  torn  apart, 

Shall  so  our  lives  dissever; 
Or,  flower-wedded,  heart  to  heart 

Bear  us  two  on  forever;  — 
Bear  through  the  eddies  formed  between, 

And  through  the  swirl  and  smother, 
To  where  the  river's  course,  serene, 

Shall  give  us  to  each  other. 


O  faintly  spreading  eventide  — 

The  last  —  the  dream  is  broken; 
We  part — our  ways  diverging  wide  — 

The  parting  thrill  unspoken;— 
And  still  remembered  —  ah,  how  well, 

Without  a  kiss,  or  favor, 
By  that  first  heavenly,  human  spell  — 

Life's  first  love  and  its  savor. 


She  blushed  and  smiled,  as  in  my  hand, 
In  shyful  way  I  caught  hers, 

As,  led  by  her,  we  came  to  stand 
Beside  the  Mystic  Waters. 


90  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

For  so  had  now  the  heart  led  on, 
And  now  had  so  the  hour, 

That  I  would  pledge  the  hand  upon, 
And  she,  love's  occult  power. 


"Come  bend  and  drink, w  she  tearful  said, 

(<  Here  from  this  bowlder  leaning, 
By  lover's  tears,  the  spring  is  fed  — 

The  draught  hath  happy  meaning; 
No  faithless  heart  may  feel  the  charm, 

But,  quaffed  with  trustful  yearning, 
The  spring  is  said  to  keep  from  harm 

And  speed  the  wished  returning.  » 


0  long  unyielding  years  in  quest 

Of  honor  blindly  straying, 
Too  late  —  the  silent  worth  confessed  — 
The  wish  at  last  obeying, — 

1  pluck  the  blue  forget-me-not, 

And  hie  through  wonted  covers; 
I  find  the  four-leaved  clover  sought, 
And  murmur,  (<  We  are  lovers. }) 


STORY   CHIMES 

But  dark  and  chill  the  river  flows, 

And  cold  and  strange  the  greeting; 
Beneath  the  falling  laurel-blows, 

We  hold  the  promised  meeting. 
The  shadows,  rising  from  the  west, 

Stretch  through  the  simple  grating, 
And  light  upon  one  heart  —  at  rest, 

And  one  in  sorrow  —  waiting! 


THE   SONG   OF   IMMORTAL   LIFE 


(LINES  ACCOMPANYING  A  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  TO  A  LADY  AUTHOR) 


THIS  pen,  Dear  Friend,  is  a  gift  to  thee 
In  more  than  its  shining  gold, 
Or  its  haft  of  pearl  from  the  Indian  Sea, 
For  this  shall  thy  fingers  hold  — 

And  trace,  ere  yet  salt  tears  shall  flow, 
Or  strickened  hopes  grow  dumb, 

Bright  thoughts,  from  thy  young  soul's  radiant 

glow, 
To  lighten  the  years  to  come. 

And  love's  glad  fancies,  told  like  beads 

At  the  sacred  shrine  of  prayer, 
Shall  thus  be  sown,  as  heaven-sent  seeds, 

To  bloom  in  the  walks  of  Care. 
(92; 


THE   SONG   OF   IMMORTAL  LIFE  93 

And  pity's  tear-drop  thus  shall  shine, 

A  pearl  in  its  native  shell, 
And  cast  o'er  each  sad,  darkling  line 

A  holy,  tender  spell. 

And  high  resolves  shall  thus  be  set, 

And  gifts  by  genius  won, 
As  gems  in  beauty's  coronet, 

To  light  the  faint  heart  on. 

And  thus  shall  faith,  in  its  halo  seen 

Like  a  star  at  eventide, 
Shine  out,  through  the  darker  skies,  between, 

To  all  the  world  beside. 

And  passing  throngs,  in  after  age, 
When  closed  is  the  mortal's  strife, 

Shall  read,  where  the   angel  scored  thy  page  — 
<(The  Song  Of  Immortal  Life.0 

This  pen,  Dear  Friend,  is  a  gift  to  thee 

In  more  than  its  shining  gold, 
Or  its  rare  white  pearl  from  the  Indian  Sea, 

For  this  from  its  point  was  told! 


KELVIN'S   JUBILEE 


GREETED  by  mind  and  throne 
As  never  was  like  before, 
Crowning  the  glory  that  outshone 
The  splendor  the  pageant  bore. — 

Of  study,  teaching  and  thrifty  deed, 

Of  virtue  as  well  applied, 
Of  science  and  many  a  crowning  lead 

Through  truth,  afar,  espied, — 

This  is  the  World's  jubilee; 

For  the  Scotch  savant  a  plan 
Conserving  in  honor  and  memory 

His  fifty  years* — a  man! 

His  was  the  skilled  part  in  the  cable  laid, 

That,  first,  to  listening  ear, 
Stretched  by  the  faith  a  Field  displayed, 

Brought  the  far  continents  near. 

*  Fifty  years  a  professor  of  mathematics. 
(94; 


KELVIN'S  JUBILEE  95 

His  was  the  thought  that  plumbed  the  sea, 
That  gave  to  the  mariner,  guide, 

That  told  of  the  shoals,  stretched  far  a  lee, 
Where  shipwreck  poured  its  tide. 

And  his  was  the  short  cut  through  device, 
(So  mind  is  with  wonders  rife), 

That  gave  to  the  mathematician  twice 
The  working  hours  of  life. 

For  him,  the  world  a  work-shop  was; 

For  him,  its  all  of  worth 
Lay  in  the  means  that  traced  to  Cause, 

And  gave  Conception  birth. 

So,  by  work  were  his  skies  impearled, 
And  so  shall  all  work  leaven ;  — 

No  child  is  born  to  less  than  the  world  — 
No  soul,  to  the  more  of  heaven. 


WILL  IT   BE? 

(SUGGESTED  BY  A  KODAK-PHOTO  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY) 

A  WORLD'S  conjecture,  stands  the  riddle  here: 
A  moment's  life  arrested  at  the  gate; 
What  shall  the  sequence  be  —  a  smile  or  tear? 
And  what  determine  it  —  or  will  or  fate? 

Thus  oft  we  stand,  mute,  motionless,  alone! 

When  some  familiar  thing  engages  thought, 
To  catch  once  more  the  mind's  sweet  undertone  — 

In  happy  converse  with  the  unforgot. 

Thus,  too,  we  muse  of  those  whom,  in  our  hearts, 

We  hold  as  treasures  under  lock  and  key; 
For  whom,  perhaps,  a  word  unreckoned  parts, 
To  meet  no  more  in  life's  weird  mystery. 

(96) 


WILL   IT   BE?  97 

And  yet  the  sad  reflection — He  is  gone! 

Who,  first  in  touch,  gave  love  its  first  surprise, — 
Gone  as  the  flush  that  ushered  in  the  dawn, 

Or  as  the  day  that  with  the  sunset  dies. 

Unread  the  story  of  the  after-past, 

Untasted  life  still  brims  its  fragile  bowl; 

No  kiss,  as  yet,  has  sped  the  fateful  cast, 

Or  fond  endearment  thrilled  the  conscious  soul. 

Untutored  so,  expectant  fancy  paints 

The  dreams'  of  loverhood  with  virtue's  glow; 

As  rapt  devotion  crowns  the  holy  saints, 
And  joins  to  God  the  grosser  man  below. 

A  world's  conjecture,  stands  the  riddle  thus: 
A  maiden  gazing  on  the  rounded  sea, — 

Herself  the  question,  (<  Are  there  two  of  us  ? w 
And  that  fond  hope  of  Heaven  —  «  Will  it  be  ? M 

7 


AUSTRALASIA 


SOME  perfumed  lines  have  come  to  me, 
Around  the  sea's  expanse, 
Evolved  of  friendship's  mystery, 

As  set  in  a  life's  romance; 
Their  presence  sets  my  heart  aglow, 

And,  lighted  by  its  gleams, 
My  soul  and  memory  hand-clasped  go 
Into  the  land  of  dreams. 


It  is  as  if  I  dwelt,  again, 

In  that  far-under  land, 
And  saw  its  wonder-wrought  domain 

Before  my  gaze  expand; 
Or  that,  again,  I  sailed  its  coasts, 

And  saw  its  grim  walls  rise, 
The  symbols  of  the  strength  it  boasts, — 

The  pride  of  flag  it  flies; 

(98) 


AUSTRALASIA 

Or  that  I  passed  its  cities  through, 

And  climbed  its  mountain  seams, 
And  sought  again  the  ferns  that  grew 

Beside  its  silent  streams; 
Or  that  I  ranged  its  trackless  plains, 

Its  somber,  pathless  woods, 
And  caught  again  the  weird  refrains 

Of  their  vast  solitudes. 


I  see,  again,  each  favored  spot 

Where  fond  endearments  sprung, 
And  where  the  charms  by  Nature  wrought 

Inspired  my  willing  tongue; 
I  see  fair  Sydney's  harbor  gleam, 

Where  stately  war-ships  ride; 
I  see  its  homes,  as  walls  of  cream, 

Stretched  downward  to  the  tide; 


I  see  its  regal  Waratah; 

Its  one  dear  little  rose; 
Its  Lady  MacQuarie's  Chair;  and  far 

The  hills  that  all  inclose; 


99 


100  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

I  see  its  busy  haunts,  its  drives, 
Its  wealth  of  parks,  its  skies, 

Its  headlands,  where  the  ocean  strives, 
And  swift  the  sea-gull  flies. 


I  see  proud  Melbourne's  width  of  streets, 

Its  far-extending  mart, — 
A  noble  bosom,  wherein  beats 

A  growing  nation's  heart; 
I  see,  again  fair  Adelaide, 

And  Brisbane,  fair  as  famed, 
And  Hobarttown,  by  hills  displayed, 

And  Auxland  —  not  least  named, 


And  Ballarat,  still  nurse  of  mines, 

And  Perth,  and,  stretched  between, 
The  village  fanes,  and  country  shrines, 

To  which  my  feet  have  been. 
It  is  as  though  I  journeyed  still, 

And  still,  an  honored  guest, 
Was  yet  the  entertained  at  will, 

By  worth  and  friendship  blest 


AUSTRALASIA 


O  tender  ties  that  lives  beget!    : 

O  fragrant  dreams  of  youth  — 
The  memories  in  the  soul  that  set 

Engendered  of  its  truth! 
Land  of  the  Southern  Cross, 

And  of  the  storm  -rift  shore  — 
Where  guards  the  sentinel  albatross  — 

To  thee,  adieu,  once  more  ! 


SOUVENIR   OF   A   VISIT 

(WRITTEN  IN  A  COPY  OF  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS) 

DEAR  HOST  AND  HOSTESS:  —  Please,  this  book 
Accept  with  my  most  kind  regard; 
I  could  not  have  such  friends  forsook 
Without  some  token  of  the  bard.— 
And  here,  as  set,  I  would  were  read, 

When  time  shall  drift  us  far  apart, 
The  sweeter  sentiments  of  the  dead 
As  linking  us  heart  to  heart. 

(102) 


THE   COMMON   PATH 


(WRITTEN    IN    A    VOLUME     OF     RlLEY'S     POEMS.    SENT    IN     RETURN    FOR    THE 

GIFT  OF  «THE  COVENANTERS  OF  MORAY  AND  Ross") 


I   THANK  you  for  the  book  received 
And  reading  it  have  found 
It  took  me,  with  a  fresh  delight, 

Over  familiar  ground. 
I  cannot  make  you  like  return, 

Save  as  the  poet  hath, 
In  the  quaint  volume  this  shall  bear, 
Led  over  the  common  path. 

(103) 


«ALL   SAINTS  » 


THE   INSPIRATION 

A  GROUP  of  friends  —  to  each  of  whom,  one  night, 
I  gave  a  Zircon  Cross,  with  my  regard  — 
Conceived  the  happy  fancy  to  unite, 

And  form  a  league  in  honor  of  the  bard. 

To  which  they  asked  that  I  should  give  a  name, 
And  I,  unthinking  how  we  build  restraints, 

Gave  on  the  spur,  and  they  with  one  acclaim 
So  took  — as  five  the  title  had  —  <(A11  Saints. » 


From  this  conception  grew,  until  resort 

Was  had,  for  parting,  to  a  loving  cup, 
And  half  in  seriousness,  and  half  in  sport, 

Request  was  made  that  I  should  write  them  up. 

(104) 


«ALL  SAINTS »—  THE   INSPIRATION  TO- 

And  furthermore,  as  having  talked  of  soul, 
Of  psychic  force,  and  of  its  mental  cult, — 

Of  the  new  ether  and  the  will's  control, 

And  how  to  test,  they  came  to  this  result:  — 

That,  as  one  mind,  for  some  appointed  time, 
They  should  on  me  so  concentrate  desire, 

That  I,  inspired  so,  should  wake  to  rhyme, 

And  make  themselves  the  subject  of  my  lyre. 

That  night  subjected  —  unaware  the  fact, 

I  wrote  what  follows  —  bar  a  touch  or  two, 

Though  tired  nature  strove  against  the  act, 

As  now,  my  whilom  prompters,  strive  may  you! 


THE  ASPIRATION 

«   A  LL  SAINTS  >}  I  said  their  name  should  be, 

f~\       And,  yet,  as  mortals  woo 
(<A11  Hearts »  had  been,  of  destiny, 

The  more  prophetic  clew  — 
Had  been  the  name  still  more  in  line 

With  what  to-night  was  leaven, — 
The  impulse  to  cement,  combine, 

And  form  «The  Zircon  Seven. » 

There  is  in  <c  Saint "  the  hint  of  hymn, 

Of  crucifix  and  stole, 
Of  love  passed  up  through  seraphim 

To  some  celestial  goal; 
While  I  on  earth,  in  human  wise, 

Would  fain  the  text  had  been 
That  Love  had  looked  through  human  eyes 

Into  the  depths  within;- — 

Into  the  human  selves  we  are  — 

As  yet  of  human  mold, 
Nor  sought  with  mitred  will  to  bar 

The  current  ocean-rolled  — 
(106) 


«ALL   SAINTS  »—  THE   ASPIRATION 

The  stream  that  rills  from  tender  thought 
Adown  the  dark  divide,  „ 

In  many  a  swirl  and  eddy  caught 
Before  it  swells  the  tide. 


I  know  not  why  I  named  them  thus, 

Or  wherein  I  had  part, 
So  little  is  love  emulous 

To  win  above  the  heart, 
Unless  some  angel-presence,  near, 

Conceived  the  moment's  plot, 
And  prompted,  as  beyond  the  bier, 

The  heavenly  bond  we  sought. 


Yet,  still,  the  name  seems  not  of  me, 

For,  so  is  heart  perverse, 
There  is,  in  all  its  minstrelsy, 

Some  role  it  would  rehearse  — 
As  yet  the  less  than  Saint  or  Soul, 

And  nearer  earth,  as  when 
Love's  first  faint  fervor  through  it  stole 

Into  the  hearts  of  men. 


107 


io8  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

But  thus  some  power  lifts  above, 

And,  indistinct  of  mind, 
Life's  destiny  thus  shapes  of  love  — 

Refining  and  refined, 
Until  the  incense  burns  to  God, 

And,  turned  from  earthly  dross, 
The  Soul  goes  up  the  pathway  trod 

By  Him  who  bore  the  Cross. 

And  so  it  is,  the  Zircon  Cross 

Here  symbols  of  the  heart 
That  gathers  of  its  gain  and  loss 

As  in  the  one  apart; 
For  love  no  more,  as  of  the  earth, 

Shall  wake  the  poet's  theme, 
Or  bring,  as  yet  of  human  birth, 

To  him  its  golden  dream. 


A   QUAFF   FROM   TRUTH 

"As  Separate  Striving  Souls  In  Need  » 

—  Line  from  a  Letter. 

c    A  s  SEPARATE  striving  souls  w  —  indeed, 
j~\       We  stand  as  of  ourselves,  alone; 
And  yet,  of  other  souls  in  need, 

Our  hopes  are  not  of  things  our  own, — 
Nor  yet  of  fancies  dreamed  apart, 

As  of  the  zenith  reared  upon, 
For  there  doth  beat  no  human  heart 

That  is  the  satisfied  as  one. 

And,  yet,  as  separate  striving  souls 
Forever  must  we  grope  our  way, 

Bewildered  with  a  thousand  goals 
Whereto  is  every  path  astray; 

And  this  is  why,  on  either  side, 

We  stretch  our  hands  from  wall  to  wall, 

And  seek  in  all  they  touch  the  guide, 

Lest  we  should  trip,  unhelped,  and  fall. 

(109) 


IIO  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

tt  In  need  w  —  ah,  yes,  for  so  is  God  — 

His  own  the  longing  felt  within, 
For  not,  as  one,  would  He  applaud, 

Or  Christ,  as  one,  compassion  win; 
For  in  so  much  is  Nature  true  — 

Wherein  to  aught  we  look  ahead, 
Our  plans  are  always  as  for  two  — 

As  for  the  leader  and  the  led. 

And  thee,  fair  maid,  so  early  wise, 

So  blest  a  type  of  longing  youth, 
To  thee  the  poet  thus  replies  — 

As  pledging  thus  a  quaff  from  truth: 
We  are  in  need  —  we  can  but  strive  — 

And  seek  who  may  the  river's  brink, 
They  must  through  arid  sands  arrive, 

Who  shall  the  sweeter  waters  drink. 


THE  SPIRIT'S  SYNAXIS 


(in) 


WOMAN 


WHAT  subtle,  potent  power 
In  weeping  woman  lies ! 
Compassion,  in  that  hour, 

Must  kiss  the  brimming-  eyes. 


But,  oh,  the  fatal  yielding, 
When  reason  tips  the  beam, 

And  pity,  in  the  shielding, 
Inspires  the  lover's  dream. 


And  yet,  were  tears  not  token 

Of  soul  revealed  to  soul, 
God's  purpose  had  not  spoken 

In  faith's  bright  aureole. 

8  (H3) 


II4  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 


In  woman  logic  falters; 

Her  greater  strength  is  this:  — 
As  nuns  are  seen  at  altars  — 

A  tear-drop  in  a  kiss. 

O  woman,  woman,  woman, 
What  fated  lines  are  thine! 

The  angel  in  the  human, 

The  earth  in  the  divine;  — 

Of  heaven,  the  sweet  confessor, 
Of  hell,  its  deeper  snare, 

Of  life,  its  first  transgressor, 
Of  death,  its  last  despair, — 

The  rose  and  thorn  of  glory, 

The  praise  and  blame  of  strife, 

The  all  extremes  in  story, 

The  one  sweet  mean  in  —  wife! 


THE   LIBERTY   BELL   OF   THE   WORLD 

No,  NOT  in  the  blast  of  a  trumpet, 
Not  in  the  beat  of  a  drum, 
Not  in  the  peal  of  a  signal  bell, 
Is  the  thought  of  Freedom  come. 

This  is  born  of  the  Spirit, 

And  voiced  by  the  living  tongue, 

And  set  in  the  symbols  of  genius, 
Wherever  the  heart  is  sung. 

No!  its  sound  is  not  of  the  belfry, 
But,  low,  of  that  whisper  heard 

That  over  the  soul  of  the  universe 
Goes  in  the  breath  of  a  word. 

It  is  not  where  the  patriot  listens, 

Not  where  the  weak  give  ear, 
Or  where,  in  the  front  of  the  battle, 

Life  follows  the  lead  of  the  spear, 

(US) 


TI6  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

That  Liberty's  voice  is  thundered, 
But  along  the  paths  of  trade  — 

As  the  aspiration  of  language  — 
Is  its  rhythm  of  soul  essayed. 

The  tongues  of  nations  differ; 

And   born  of  their  several  speech, 
Are  the  differing  strains  of  their  war-cry, 

Are  the  opposite  goals  they  reach. 

But  there  is  the  voice  as  of  concord 

That,  through  the  confusion  of  tongues, 

Breaks  on  the  slumbering  reason, 
And  gathers  of  conscience,  lungs. 

Its  songs  are  as  born  of  Creation, 
Its  music  as  read  in  the  face  — 

As  of  beauty  that  holds  and  entrances, 

As  of  strength  that  is  sceptered  by  grace. 

It  gathers  the  flowers  of  intellect, 

The  arts  of  the  world  and  their  worth, 
The  weighed  revelations  of  science, 
And  the  treasures  of  heavenly  birth. 


THE   LIBERTY   BELL  OF   THE   WORLD  117 

It  focuses  virtue  and  valor, 

It  deifies  justice  and  mind, 
And  broadens,  with  every  day's  sunrise, 

The  path  to  the  unconfined. 

It  gives  to  woman  her  heritage, 

To  man  his  highest  ideal, 
To  sentiment,  hearthstone  and  altar, 

And  prelude  to  all  that  is  real. 

It  is  cradle  to  inspiration, 

It  is  nurse  to  devotion  and  love, 

And  parent  to  every  emotion 
That  lifts,  and  still  lifts  above. 

It  strikes  from  the  bondman  his  shackles, 
It  takes  from  the  tyrant  his  crown, 

It  gives  to  the  people  the  sceptre, 
And  rule  to  the  ballot  and  town. 

No!    not  as  the  blast  of  a  trumpet, 

Not  as  the  beat  of  a  drum, 
Nor  as  a  peal  from  the  watch-tower, 

Is  the  mandate  of  Freedom  come. 


n8  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

But  from  the  language  as  spoken 
As  first  of  that  double  isle  — 

The  winnowed  of  races  and  ages, 

The  blended  of  tear-drop  and  smile. 

The  rhythm  of  Celtic  and  Anglaise, 
Of  Saxon  and  Roman  and  Greek  — 

That  only  to  Freedom  is  measured, 

That  all  shall  be  Freemen  who  speak. 

And  this  shall  be  prophecy  written: — 
No  matter  what  flag  is  unfurled, 
The  English  tongue  will  be,  always, 
The  Liberty  Bell  of  the  world. 


WE   TRYING   DO 


I   WRITE  these  lines  as  one  who  would 
In  all  life's  rounds  the  quest  pursue; 
I  know  not  why  I  may,  or  should, 
Unless  it  be  —  we  trying  do. 

I  know  not  whence  the  impulse  comes, 
Nor  why  I  thus  new  paths  explore, 

Unless  it  be  our  lives  are  sums, 

And  we  but  live  in  something  more. 

I  have  no  wish  in  this  defined, 

I  have  no  goal  I  thus  would  gain; 

I  only  know  that  work  and  mind 
Do  never  partnership  in  vain. 

I  only  see,  as  simple  truth, 

Wherein  we  strive  we  widen  room, 
And  take  upon  fresh  strength  of  youth 

With  everv  virtue  we  assume. 

(119) 


120  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

Life's  earnest  faith,  its  constant  hope, 
Are  well-springs  of  a  conscious  soul 

Which  finds  through  these  its  larger  scope 
And  ultimate  control. 

Nor  wealth,  nor  rank  may  fill  repose, 
Nor  peace,  nor  plenty  quicken  life; 

God's  purpose  is  vouchsafed  to  those, 
And  those  alone,  with  time  at  strife. 

Nor  touch,  nor  taste  existence  is, 

Nor  sound,  nor  sight,  nor  length  of  day; 

To  "do"  is  life's  one  source  of  bliss, 
To  "try*  is  its  one  blissful  way. 

So  will  it  hold,  in  this  my  stake, 

If  one  shall  read  these  verses  through, 

And  feel  resolve  —  from  slumber  wake, 
Here  having  seen  —  we  trying  do. 


HA-WA-I1 

HA-WA-II!    Ha-wa-ii! 
Thou  cradle  of  desire, 
Of  sun-kissed  fruits  and  flowers, 

Of  beauty,  love,  and  fire; 
Of  emerald  deeps  and  shallows, 

Of  coral  reefs  and  caves  — 
H  a- wa-ii !    Ha-wa-ii ! 

Thou  genius  of  the  waves. 

I  love  thee!    I  love  thee! 

The  weary  soul  would  rest, 
As  wrapped  in  blissful  slumbers, 

Upon  thy  tender  breast; 
As  wooed  by  thy  fair  maidens, 

As  clasped  by  thy  warm  arms  — 
I  love  thee!    I  love  thee! 

Thou  wonder  of  earth's  charms. 

(121; 


122  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

Ha-wa-ii !   Ha-wa-ii ! 

Thy  name  shall  henceforth  be 
The  one  sweet  bond  of  friendship 

And  charm  of  hope  to  me; 
Thy  hills  shall  fill  my  visions, 

Thy  shores  shall  woo  my  feet  — 
H  a- wa-ii !    Ha-wa-ii ! 

My  life's  long- wished  retreat. 


NOTE  — This  poem  was  written  on  shipboard,  as  the  Hawaiian  shores 
were  receding  from  view. — August,  1892. 


THYSELF 

Up,  BRAVE  youth,  the  future  calls  thee, 
Give  no  sun  to  sluggard  sleep; 
Push  right  on  —  though  night  appall  thee, 
All  is  thine  to  lose  or  keep. 

Choose  thy  path  —  and  be  it  any, 
And  the  end  be  soon  or  late, 

Be  temptations  strong  and  many, 
Give  no  hostages  to  Fate. 

Facts,  alone,  are  records  written, 

And  all  else  is  thine  and  God's; 
Be  by  no  base  slander  smitten  — 

Hold  thy  right  against  all  odds. 

(123) 


124  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Join  no  lot  to  those  who  smuggle, 
Nor  with  those  who  rashly  plan; 

Fortune  comes  to  those  who  struggle, 
And  the  world  is  theirs  who  can. 


Through  all  gain  this  purpose  carry: 
Not  to  hoard  as  sordid  pelf, 

Nor,  at  last,  with  ease  to  tarry, 
But  to  win  and  love — Thyself  1 


THE   SENTENCE   OF   DEATH 


WATCH  out!   young  heart,  watch  out! 
While  the  years  of  thy  life  go  by; 
For  deeper,  and  deeper  in  doubt 

Will  the  shadows  behind  them  lie. 

Treasure  thy  youth  and  hearken 
To  the  echo  across  the  vale, — 

Time  hath  a  touch  that  will  darken, 
And  the  cast  of  that  touch  is  pale. 

Kiss,  if  thou  wilt,  yet  borrow, 

From  each  day  of  the  present,  a  light 
That  shall  shine  in  that  distant  to-morrow 

A  radiance  set  in  the  night. 

Watch  out!  young  heart,  watch  out! 

While  yet  there  is  fullness  of  breath; 
For  there  cometh  a  life  turned  about, 

And  its  hue  is  the  sentence  of  death.— 

(125) 


I26  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

A  life  of  gray  hair!  —  Oh,  heed  it, 

For  the  world  will  be  distant  and  cold, 

If  thy  youth  is  not  present  to  feed  it, 
To  clothe  it,  to  love  and  uphold. 


ALONE! 

NOT  of  all  the  world's  vast  thronging, 
Not  two  hearts,  though  side  by  side, 
Beat  as  with  the  one-self  longing — 
As  they  walk  their  paths  divide. 

Thus  it  is  that  doubts  assail  us, 
And  the  strongest  hearts  repine; 

Thus  it  is  that  prayers  avail  us 
Nothing  —  at  another's  shrine. 

Thus  it  is  the  mournful  turning 
From  the  love-hopes  of  the  past, 

And  the  weeping  and  heart-burning, 
And  the  death-dread  at  the  last. 

Thus  it  is  that  night  is  terror; 

And  its  saddest  sigh,  or  moan, 
Is  the  voice  of  life's  set  error  — 

In  the  one  sad  word  — <(  Alone ! }> 

(127) 


TWO   HEARTS 


T 


HE  ruffled  sea,  upon  a  summer's  day, 

Sprinkled  a   sloping   lawn  with    briny   spray; 


And  through  the  trees,  whose  shadows  streaked  the 

shore, 
It  poured  its  cool  and  rest-inspiring  store. 

Gazing  thereon,  as  silhouettes  in  white, 
Two  lovers  loitered,  brimful  of  the  sight; 

And  as  they  gazed,  the  tonic  of  the  scene 
Gave  life  a  richer  glow  of  health  between; 

While  fancy,  sky-winged,  took  them  by  the  hand, 
And  led  them  —  dreamers  —  into  Lover's  Land. 

For  one,  the  storm  uprose,  the  lightning  played, 

And  night  came  down  to  find  him  undismayed; 
(128) 


TWO  HEARTS  129 

The  other  saw  the  landscape  set  to  song, 
And  culled  bright  flowers  as  she  danced  along. 

The  visions  passed;  and  strolling  seaward,  each, 
In  silent  musing,  wrote  upon  the  beach 

These    words     entwined  —  as    though     their     minds 
were  run 

In     the     same     human     mold  — <(  Two     hearts  —  as 
one ! » 

Discordant  broke  the  cawing  of  the  crows, 

And  from  the   wastes  the  sea-gull's  scream  uprose; 

The  soughing  trees  in  mournful  cadence  swung, 
As  if  they  prophesied  with  saddened  tongue; 

The  waves,  in  solemn  dirge,  as  Fate's  approach, 
With  lethic  flood  on  love's  fond  lines  encroach: 

And,  ere  the  lovers  reach  the  firmer  land, 
They  wash,  (<as  one,0  from  out  the  fickle  sand; 

But  leave  the  words  —  as  lives  have  each  their  parts  — 
To  stand  as  truth  for  all  of   time  —  «  Two  Hearts. M 
9 


THE   THREAD   OF   LIFE 


LIFE  as  a  thread  to  its  mesh  is  dealt, 
In  casts  of  the  road  it  travels, 
With  ever  a  stitch  for  the  moment  felt, 

In  a  plot  no  hand  unravels; 
With  ever  a  pull  on  the  vital  reel, 

When,  snarled  at  an  awkward  angle, 
The  line  goes  out  with  a  sudden  screel 
To  hitch  in  a  fatal  tangle.  — 

From  day  to  day — as  hope  to  hope, 

As  thin  as  a  spider's  spinning, 
And,  yet,  as  strong  as  a  hangman's  rope 

From  sinning  unto  sinning; 
As  weak,  too,  as  the  spider's  thread 

Where  heart  to  the  heart  is  netted, 
And  where  it  touches  the  silent  dead  — 

Strand-parted  and   rough-fretted. 
(130) 


GOD'S   PITY 


As  YET  betwixt  existence  held  — 
The  upper  life  and  under, 
Its  doubt  in  dawning  truth  dispelled, 
Its  fear,  in  growing  wonder, 

The  parting  soul,  with  straining  flight, 
O'ertakes  its  purer  longing, 

And  sees  behind,  like  climbing  night, 
Its  grosser  passions  thronging, 

One  quick,  appealing  glance  is  cast, 

That  it  may  hope  discover, 
One  fateful  question,  and  the  last, 

Ere  yet  the  last  is  over,— 

('30 


132  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

<(  What  may  the  soul,  O  shrinking  earth, 
That  it  might  error  leaven, 

What  may  it  urge,   as  yet  of  worth, 
To  plead  its  way  to  Heaven  ? }> 

One  effort,  and  the  lips  have  stirred  — 

Ere  yet  the  stirless  city, 
One  sentence,  and  the  soul  hath  heard  — 

The  saving  truth  — <(  God's  Pity !  w 


ASPIRATION 


AND  O,  for  a  day  in  the  clouds  — 
To  gather  their  bolted  air, 
To  pierce  and  burst  the  shrouds 
That  lie  in  the  sepulchre  —  Care. 

And  O  that  my  song  were  a  fire  — 

To  purify  might  of  its  mold, 
To  blare  and  blaze  up  higher 

Till  its  cinderless  worth  were  told. 

And  if  only  the  strength  were  mine 
To  scatter  or  keep  as  I  chose, 

I  would  give  to  the  weak  a  sign, 

With  a  spear  in  my  side, — who  knows? 


MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

For  the  shame  of  all  time  was  crowned 

In  Him  of  the  crucified  race, 
And  where  may  not  Pilate  be  found, 

In  a  world  that  is  servant  to  place  ? 

Would  that  my  life  were  a  voice 

To  break  on  the  sleep  of  the  soul, 

And,  waking,  the  Poor  might  rejoice, 

And   the  Rich  be  ashamed  of   their  dole. 

And,  yet,  I  must  weep  for  the  rude, 
And  doubt  for  the  vicious  and  low, 

While  I  cry  to  the  God  of  the  good 

For  a  faith  that  is  more  than  a  show, 

For  a  Christ  not  written  in  blood, 
For  a  symbol  the  world  may  know. 


LIFE  AND   LOVE 


I  SING  of  Life  as  a  stately  ship, 
With  her  white  wings  all  aspread, 
With  her  snowy  trail,  and  her  buoyant  dip, 

And  the  bright  sky  overhead; 
But  ah,  for  the  downward  sinking  sun, 

And  for  the  soul  on  deck, 
For  the  storm-swept  course  so  swiftly  run, 
And  the  all  unsparing  wreck, — 

For  Fate  is  the  sea  o'er  which  they  sail, 

And  down  to  its  depths  they  go, 
Who  heed  not  the  signs  of  the  coming  gale, 

Ere  yet  the  fierce  winds  blow; 
Down  to  the  depths  of  cold  and  gloom, 

To  the  haunts  of  vice  and  crime, 
To  the  tramp's  despair  and  the  pauper's  doom, 

And  the  dead  past's  ooze  and  slime. 


136  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

I  sing  of  Love  as  a  summer's  day, 

With  a  flowery  plain  beneath; 
But  ah!   for  the  sun  in  its  westward  way, 

And  want's  bleak,  barren  heath; 
Through  beaten  paths  the  strong  may  go, 

But  the  sick,  and  the  poor,  and  the  tried, 
These  are  led  by  their  master — Woe, 

In  the  rougher  paths  aside. 

But  O,  for  hope's  sustaining  power, 

And,  over  all.  the  Sky, 
For  God's  all-conscious  heavenly  dower, 

And  life's  — Infinity; 
The  rougher  paths  at  the  hills  begin, 

And  he  the  better  hath, 
Who  strives  with  the  strength  of  the  soul  within 

To  gain  the  higher  path. 


LABOR   ELATE 


THERE  is  in  the  eye  of  Labor, 
As  with  consciousness  elate, 
Like  the  flashing  of  a  saber, 

The  gleam  of  a  coming  fate; 
Let  the  Prudent  scan  its  meaning, 
Let  the  Wise  in  time  take  heed, 
For  the  walls  of  Faith  are  leaning, 
And  the  weaker  have  the  lead. 

There  is  in  the  heart  of  Labor 

The  wild  throbbings  of  a  trance, 

Like  the  beatings  of  a  tabor 
To  a  weird  and  mazy  dance; 

A  giant  as  yet  he  slumbers, 

And  a  child  may  pluck  his  beard, 

But  beware  his  waking  numbers 

In  the  struggle  to  be  feared, 

(13?) 


138 


MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

There  is  in  the  soul  of  Labor, 

As  still  may  virtue  seem, 
The  love  for  friend  and  neighbor, 

And  hope  in  Heaven's  dream; 
But  ah,  should  night  still  lower, 

And  should  the  hours  seem  long, 
What  charm  shall  curb  his  power, 

Or  hold  from  a  mighty  wrong! 


SELF   UNTO   SELF 


OLiFE,  what  hast  them  given  me 
That  I  may  carry  hence  ? 
Hast  them  for  all  thy  present  task 

A  future  recompense  ? 
Hast  thou  a  mind  within  a  mind, 

A  breath  within  a  breath, 
A  noble  treasure  sealed  to  me 
Beyond  the  touch  of  death  ? 

O  unseen  self,  within  I  hear 

Thy  low,  familiar  voice; 
At  least,  we  two  are  one,  indeed, 

For  this,  O  heart,  rejoice! 
While  still  one  spark  of  consciousness, 

In  aught  I  am,  remains, 
Thou  wilt  inspire  my  truest  joys, 

Pr  else  my  deepest  pains. 


(139) 


140  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

What  value  hath  the  praise  of  men 

Unless  thou,  too,  approve  ? 
Where  lies  the  joy  my  lips  would  feign 

Unless  thou  know'st  I  love  ? 
What  is  the  pride  of  wealth,  if  thou 

Account  it  not  mine  own  ? 
Or  what  my  poverty,  if  rich 

By  thy  award  alone  ? 

I  may  not  carry  rank,  or  place, 

Or  wealth,  through  death  with  me, 

But  O,  I  cannot  help  but  take 
Just  what  I  was — in  thee  ! 

My  fame  and  tomb  some  fleeting  years 
Unto  my  name  may  give, 

But  ever,  on  thy  fadeless  scroll, 
Each  conscious  deed  will  live. 


THE   ROCKY    MOUNTAINS 


FAREWELL,  immortal  pictures!   illustrate 
Of  broad  creation's  pages  open  wide! 
Thou  far-seen  beacons  to  man's  high  estate, 

And  thro'  the  problems  of  existence  guide! 
But  one  life-atom  in  the  sea  of  life, 

Which  countless  ages  have  about  thee  rolled, 
I  fall  again  into  its  ceaseless  strife  — 
The  story  of  a  flash!   a  moment  told! 

What  to  thee  the  feeble  hopes  which  cling 
In  sweet  association  wed  to  love! 

What  but  the  charms  which  busy  seasons  fling 
Around  thy  sturdy  sides  with  death  enwove! 

Thine  are  the  years  of  matter  first  create, 
Thy  cradle  chaos!  and  thine  ending  God! 

A  we -filling  monuments  of  storied  fate  — 

A  world  lies  buried  when  thy  summits  nod! 

(141) 


I42  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

What  tho'  I  scale  thy  cloud- arresting  peaks, 

Or  climb  along1  thy  dark,  imprisoned  streams, 
Or    catch    weird   longings    from    thy    changeful 
freaks, 

Or  drink  the  health  that  bubbles  from   thy 

seams, 
The  world  of  action  beckons  at  thy  base, 

And  yawning  waits  to  stifle  every  thought; 
By  false  opinion  whipped  along  the  race 

I  fly  —  to  fall  o'erjaded  and — forgot! 


WITHIN   THE   SHADOW 


(!N  MEMORY  OF  A  FRIEND) 


DEATH  is  here.     A  solemn  spectre  sent 
To  startle  life,  unmindful  of  its  end;  — 
A  threat  to  youth,  to  age  a  promise  meant, 

To  him  we  mourn  a  loved  and  trusted  friend. 

Close  at  the  altar's  font,  with  tearful  eyes, 

We  bear  the  cold,  mute  burden  of  our  woe; 

While  stifled  sobs  and  mournful  notes  arise 

The  measure  of  our  muffled  tread  advancing  slow. 

No  hollow  forms  of  calculating  grief 

Constrain  attendance  of  the  fashion  here; 

No  gilded  pomp  proclaims  the  honored  chief 

That  pride  may  rise  unchallenged  from  the  bier. 

A  single  throb  of  earth,  forever  stilled, 

A  single  impulse  of  the  boundless  mind, — 

Not  even  love  can  shrine  the  niche  he  filled, 
Or  science  trace  the  breath  he  leaves  behind. 

(143) 


144 


MARTYRED   HUMANITY 


No  bold  emblazonries  of  slaughtered  hosts 
The  noble  multitude  a  name  insure; 

No  questioned  rank,  or  vain  distinction  boasts 

The  world's  true  brotherhood  —  The   Great   Ob 
scure  ! 

Of  such  the  Dead!     Beyond  the  sorrowing  few 
Ambitious  not,  he  sought  the  final  goal; 

But,  ah,  beneath  that  faultless  art  he  grew 
Which  carves  in  frailty  an  upright  soul. 

His  was  the  genial,  cultured  glow  of  age, 

The  wealth  of  conscious  and  deserved  respect: 

His  rounded  life  a  fair,  unspotted  page, 

By  death  preserved  and  bound  in  the  Elect. 

His  memory  fading  with  the  onward  life, 
His  body  blending  with  the  pulseless  sod, 

We  speed  his  spirit  from  our  world  of  strife, 
To  seek  his  title  on  the  role  of  God. 


I   FACE   ANOTHER   DAY 


M 


Y  FATHER,  O  my  Father, 

From  out  the  gathering  gloom, 


I  cry  as  one  forgotten 

In  some  impending  doom; 

From  out  the  rift  of  matter, 
Ere  yet  the  closing  sod, 

In  low,  despairing  utterance, 
I  call  on  Thee,  O  God! 

Almost  I  yield  to  horror, 

To  phantasy  and  doubt, 
Almost  to  that  rash  impulse 

Which  snuffs  life's  candle  out; 
Almost,  O  God,  almost, 

I  yield  the  parting  breath, 
And  ceasing  all  of  struggle 

Fall  weakly  into  death. 

10 


(145) 


I46  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

What  stays  the  fatal  moment  ? 

What  lights  the  flame  anew  ? 
Is  it  to  strive  for  other 

And  nobler  work  to  do  ? 
Or,  yet,  with  higher  daring 

My  crumbling  plans  to  rear, 
All  radiant  with  Thy  blessing, 

All  conscious  of  Thy  care  ? 

O  Father,  still  my  Father, 

My  wounded  soul  to  Thee, 
Drags  through  the  painful  struggle 

To  clasp  a  parent's  knee;  — 
Content  to  yield  the  honors 

Of  fame's  alluring  dome, 
To  come,  however  weighted, 

As  one  returning  home. 

A  drop,  a  single  atom, 
In  all  this  stir  of  life, 

And  yet  an  awful  impulse 
In  all  its  whirling  strife, 


I   FACE   ANOTHER  DAY  14? 

Like  me,  in  like  parts,  thousands 

Of  little  human  hearts, 
In  little  blind  endeavors, 

Are  pierced  with  aimless  darts ;  — 

Wrung  by  the  cold  defamer, 

Bruised  with  the  hardened  plot, 
In  seeming  wrong  remembered, 

In  proof  of  right  forgot, — 
This  cannot  be,  O  Father; 

Thy  general  law's  decree, 
Some  higher,  nobler  being 

Waits  in  the  end  for  me  — 
Where  Heaven  and  Earth  are  mingled, 

And  Life  is  joined  to  Thee. 

So  stays  the  fatal  moment, 

So  wakes  the  dormant  good, 
The  spirit  conquers  matter, 

And  death  is  yet  withstood; 
I  rise  with  lighter  burden, 

I  brush  the  clouds  away, — 
O  Father,  with  Thy  blessing, 

I  face  another  day! 


THE  ORGAN   SWELL 


RAGPICKERS 


PART  I 

RAGPICKERS!  ragpickers! 
All  men  are  rag-pickers! 
While  the  light,  life,  flickers 

All  carry  bags! 
Yes,  from  the  court  and  town, 
All  the  gradations  down, 
All  are,  as  sage  or  clown, 
Gathering  rags! 


All,  with  their  shoulders  bent, 
Seeking  the  worn  and  spent  — 
Even  the  sweepings  sent 
To  the  dust-heap! 


(151) 


152  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Or,  as  of  sight  above, 
From,  else,  the  dreams  of  love. 
Raking  the  cast-off  glove, 
O'er  which  they  weep! 


What  have  the  richer  got, 
More  than  the  poorer  lot  ? 
Out  of  life's  rust  and  rot 

What  may  they  hold  ? 
What  have  the  fairer  won — • 
When  the  swift  race  is  run, 
What  of  the  stars  or  sun 

Has  there  been  told  ? 


What  is  possessed  by  them  — 
Pickers,  the  best  of  them  — 
Lost  to  the  rest  of  them, 

More  than  a  rag? 
They,  as  in  rank  the  first, 
As  in  the  most  accursed, 
Range  but  from  best  to  worst  — 

Down  to  life's  slag! 


RAGPICKERS  — PART  I 

Time  comes  at  last  upon, 
When  to  the  waste  is  gone 
All  that  was  sought  or  won 

Gowned  or  ungowned; 
All  that  was  sweet  and  fair, 
All  that  was  rich  and  rare, 
Gallant  and  debonair, 

Under  the  ground. 


Who,  then,  shall  claim  the  "best, 
Laud  it  above  the  rest, 
Holding  the  prouder  quest  — 

Titles  and  terms  ? 
Dead,  they  are  equal  all, 
Honors,  or  none  at  all, 
King,  and  the  beaten  thrall, 

Food  for  the  worms! 


What  is  the  world,  as  seen, 
Bright  with  its  walls  of  green, 
But,  all  its  life  between, 
Ragpicker's  Hall — 


MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

Where  are  displayed,  as  wide, 
Baubles,  and  rags  beside, 
Gathered  as  ages  died  — 
Yes,  at  the  pall! 


Palace  or  hovel-nursed, 

All  have  their  parts  reversed, 

Reassigned  and  rehearsed, 

Staged  or  unstaged; 
Players  in  tinsel  gowns, 
Maskers  in  smiles  and  frowns, 
Tragedians  and  clowns, 

All  death -engaged. 


Ashes  to  ashes  swept, 

Those  who  have  laughed  or  wept, 

Those  who  have  strode  or  crept, 

Just  or  unjust; 
Youth  with  its  golden  hair, 
Love  with  its  bosom  bare, 
Age  with  its  lines  of  care  — 

Dust  unto  dust! 


RAGPICKERS  — PART  I  155 

Thus,  may  the  truth  be  read  — 
Whether  of  starved  or  fed; 
Even  the  Christ  is  dead  — 

Born  of  the  flesh; 
Death  all  alike  begrims, 
Nothing  that  flies  or  swims, 
Nothing  that  chirps  or  hymns, 

Escapes  his  mesh. 


All  are  his  vassals  born, 
Bondaged  to  grief  and  scorn, 
Driven  with  whip  and  thorn  — 

Scourged  to  their  rest; 
None  may  his  right  deny, 
None  for  his  kingdom  try, 
Prone  in  his  presence  lie 

The  worst  and  best. 


Means  he  hath  ever  new; 
Even  the  trembling  crew, 
Themselves  his  office  do  — 
In  God's  despite; 


156 


MARTYRED  HUMANITY 


Names  that  are  ranked  as  proud, 
Came  of  the  slaughtered  crowd, 
Flaunting  the  bloody  shroud, 
As  conquest  might. 


Even  when  loath  to  strike, 
Some,  in  their  own  dislike, 
With  honor's  sword  or  pike, 

Give  death  his  prey! 
Or,  with  more  subtle  plan, 
Narrow  life's  little  span, 
Hiding,  as  science  can, 

The  meaner  way, 


Such  is  the  common  life, 
A  round  of  pain  and  strife 
A  dream  with  bodings  rife 

A  wail  of  fear; 
And  those  that  more  assume 
Mask  but  the  deeper  gloom  — 
Dreading  still  more  the  doom 

That  drapes  the  bier! 


RAGPICKERS  — PART  I  157 

And  what  the  gain  at  last  ? 
What  but  a  broken  past, 
Robed  in  the  tatters  cast 

From  stall  to  stage  ? 
Rags  as  from  dirt  to  pride, 
From  crime  to  justice  tried, 
And,  as  with  all  beside, 

Decrepit  age! 


RAGPICKERS 


PART    II 


(158) 


AH,  BUT  beyond  the  grave! 
Is  there,  as  mortals  crave, 
Power  to  raise  and  save 

The  inner  mind  ? 

Set  in  the  soul's  domain, 

Freed  from  earth's  care  and  pain, 

Conscious  of  self  again, — 

Life  unconfmed  ? 


And,  as  the  Good  conceive, 
Is  there  for  sin  reprieve? 
And  for  the  hearts  tnat  grieve  — 
Missing  all  here — 


RAGPICKERS  — PART   II 

Is  there,  as  still  of  earth, 
As  yet  a  nobler  worth, 
A  second  and  larger  birth 
A  spirit  sphere  ? 


Who  are  the  doubters  then  ? 
Is  it  the  wiser  men, 
Who,  with  the  farther  ken, 

See  into  space  ? 
Or  the  benighted  crew  — 
The  Saviour,  such  as  slew  — 
Doubters  of  all  in  view, 

Even  God's  grace  ? 


Are  there  consistent  ones, 
As  if,  indeed,  God's  sons  — 
Soldiers  undrilled  to  guns  — 

Who  seek  life's  source  ? 
Standing  beneath  the  Cross, 
Grieving  the  Master's  loss, 
Spurning,  as  pitch,  the  dross 

Cried  at  the  Bourse  ? 


J6Q  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Who  shall  instruct  the  priest  ? 
Or  by  fast  or  by  feast  — 
Sacrifice  of  man  or  beast, 

Or  tale  or  toll,— 
Measure  to  life  its  span  ? 
Or,  as  of  proof,  who  can 
Limit  to  later  man 

The  birth  of  Soul  ? 


Was  there  no  world  before  ? 
No  spark  the  cradle  bore 
That,  as  the  evermore, 

Was  loved  —  and  lost  ? 
No  growth  of  mind  within  — 
No  dawn  of  grace  or  sin  — 
And,  as  all  selves  begin, 

No  tempest  tossed  ? 


Think  of  life's  darker  shades, 
Think  of  its  meaner  grades, 
Think  of  the  past  that  fades, 
Shapeless  and  dumb; 


RAGPICKERS— PART  II 

Of  all  that  lived  and  died, 
Of  all  that  laughed  and  cried, 
Before  was  time  descried, 
Think  of  the  sum! 


Leaves  of  life's  tree  were  they, 
That  fell  to  mold  away, 
Unreckoned  of  their  day, 

Unsaid,  unsung; 
Who  shall  deny  to  these, 
Titles  and  pedigrees, 
And,  as  to  Majesties, 

Immortal  tongue  ? 


Were  there  not  hearts  that  beat, 
Lips  that  kissed  warm  and  sweet, 
Lost  in  that  dumb  retreat, 

Long  aeons  ago  ? 
Had  they  no  dreams  of  God  — 
By  nature  thrilled  and  awed  — 
Seeking,  beyond  the  sod, 

Surcease  of  woe  ? 


162 


MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Back  of  old  Egypt's  days, 
Of  India's  ancient  phase, 
Lemuria's  fabled  blaze, 

Were  there  not,  then, 
Races  that  spun  and  wove, 
Nations  that  rose  and  throve, 
And,  as  in  bonds  of  love, 

Women  and  men  ? 


And  were  they  darker  all  ? 
Since  on  no  crypt  or  wall, 
Shown  as  their  cut  or  scrawl, 

Is  there  engraved 
Hint  of  the  whiter  race, 
Honored  or  in  disgrace, 
Profile,  or  front  of  face,— 

Free  or  enslaved  ? 


Are  we  of  finer  clay, 
Race  of  a  later  day, 
Born,  and  of  right  to  stay, 
Lords  evermore  ? 


RAGPICKERS  — PART  II 

Patterns  in  broader  stripes, 
Giants,  whose  coming  wipes  — 
Spurning  life's  cruder  types  — 
All  from  before  ? 


Is  it  that  God  improves, 
Working  in  broader  grooves  — 
As  of  each  day  behooves  — 

The  better  plan  ? 
Or,  that  with  life  there  grew, 
Struggling  all  matter  through, 
A  Master-Spirit,  too, — 

The  Master  —  Man? 


Or,  then,  as  others  urge, 
Is  death  the  outer  verge, 
Beyond  which  chant  or  dirge 

Availeth  not  ? 

Life  but  the  breath  as  blown 
Of  earth  and  air,  alone, 
As  by  its  steam  is  shown 

A  boiling  pot  ? 


163 


164 


MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Bubbles  of  primal  force, 
Puffed  from  a  common  source, 
Winged  for  a  moment's  course, 

Without  intent  ? 
The  set  return  of  race, 
The  mind's  all-round  embrace, 
The  conscious  cast  of  face, 

An  accident  ? 


Or,  then,  as  one  might  think, 
Standing  on  wisdom's  brink, 
Is  it  as  link  to  link 

Gradations  cling  ? 
Evolved  as  from  the  first, 
Offspring  of  greed  and  thirst, 
By  time  and  season  nursed  — 

From  worm  to  king  ? 


Or,  as  the  stars  would  teach, 
Are  they  thought's  farther  reach, 
The  germ  distinct  in  each, 
From  birth  to  birth  ? 


RAGPICKERS  — PART  II 

Shaped  as  of  sentient  time, 
Seen  as  each  race  shall  climb, 
Up  its  own  path  sublime  — 
A  separate  worth  ? 


Who  shall  evolve  the  fact  — 
Straight  through  creation  tracked  — 
Evolve  the  mighty  act 

That  made  the  world? 
Or,  through  the  night  of  space, 
Who  shall  the  seething  face 
Of  matter  give  to  place  — 

Self-shaped,  self -whirled  ? 


Was  there  no  thought  before, 
No  mighty  will  that  bore, 
Self -set  — The  Evermore, 

As  God  supreme  ? 
The  « Infinite, »  as  He  — 
The  «Was»  and  «  Is  to  Be,» 
The  <(A11  w  that  mortals  see, 

And  all  they  dream  ? 


165 


MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

Who  can  conceive  of  end? 
Whose  mind  shall  comprehend 
The  skies  that  round  him  bend, 

Their  depths  embrace  ? 
Or  who  conceive  of  lines 
Beyond  which  nothing  shines  — 
Conceive  as  of  its  signs 

A  worldless  space  ? 

No  mind  can  grasp  the  plan, 
Bridging  the  mighty  span, 
From  atom  unto  man, 

From  sin  to  Christ! 
And,  yet,  what  soul  hath  need  ? 
As  the  all-saving  creed, 
Is  there  not  this  to  plead — 

//  hath  sufficed? 


SCIAGRAPHS  OF  THE  TEMPLE 


(167) 


THE    SOUL    WILL    EVER    BE 


WE  SIGH  for  a  vista  straight  and  broad, 
But  truth  is  a  winding  way; 
We  seek  for  a  sign  from  the  unknown  God, 
But  Life  will  have  its  say. 
For  —  creeds  may  come 
And  creeds  may  go, 
But  Life  will  have  its  say. 

We  gather  the  flowers,  one  by  one, 
But  joy  is  a  boundless  store; 
We  garner  the  hours,  sun  by  sun, 
But  Time  is  the  Evermore. 
For  —  creeds  may  come 
And  creeds  may  go, 

But  Time  is  the  Evermore! 

(169,* 


MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

We  bind  with  the  sense  of  fleeting  things, 

But  mind  is  a  shoreless  sea; 
We  quaff  at  the  fount  whence  Lethe  springs, 
But  the  Soul  will  ever  be. 
For  —  creeds  may  come 
And  creeds  may  go, 
But  the  Soul  will  ever  be. 


WHAT   IS   LIFE? 

LIFE  is  the  circumstance  and  sense, 
The  color  and  the  strain, 
The  individual  in  the  order  whence 

The  consciousness  hath  reign; 
The  first  dream  put  aware 

Of  spirit  or  of  sod, 
The  sign  by  which  all  things  declare 
The  fatherhood  of  God. 

Life  is  the  infant  put  to  school, 

The  grammar  of  the  mind, 
The  weights  and  measures,  and  the  rule 

By  which  thought  is  defined; 
The  birth  of  passion  and  desire, 

Of  sentiment  and  love, 
The  revelation  of  the  earth's  empire 

In  all  that  lifts  above. 

Life  is  Creation's  working  hand, 
The  details  of  its  plan, 


172  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

The  elements  put  at  art's  command 
To  new  combine  through  man; 

The  touch  that  fructifies  the  ore, 
That  gives  to  growth  its  worth, 

That  stamps,  as  Heaven's  entrancing  store, 
The  physical  in  birth. 

Life  is  the  masquerade  of  the  soul, 

Through  which,  as  virtue's  thrill, 
Is  spread  the  infinite  control 

Of  God's  diviner  will; 
The  journey  through  the  wilderness, 

Emotion's  cradle,  sphere, 
The  graduate  of  a  world's  caress, 

The  knowledge  of  a  tear! 

Life  is  the  definite,  all-giving  germ, 

The  vignette  on  the  coin, 
The  unit  of  a  double  term 

In  which  two  persons  join; 
The  soul's  first  troubled  glance 

As  clouded  by  a  breath, 
The  first,  and  after-clinging  trance, 

From  which  it  wakes  —  in  death! 


WHAT    IS    MIND? 


MIND  is  the  dress  of  the  naked  soul, 
The  hue  of  its  changing  light, 
The  cast  of  the  passing  hour's  control, 

The  thought  in  the  spirit's  sight; 
Mind  is  the  substance  and  the  sense, 

The  visage  of  the  thing, 
The  soul's  true  subject  and  pretense, 
Its  mask,  its  crown  and  ring. 

Mind  is  the  fog,  or  passing  cloud, 

The  night,  or  brilliant  day, 
The  soul's  one  auditor,  or  crowd, 

Its  sketch,  its  dream,  or  play; 
Mind  is  the  sparkle  of  gem-force, 

The  glint  of  sensation's  heat, 
The  soul's  fleet  wing,  and  untracked  course, 

Its  bitter,  arid  its  sweet. 


I74  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

Mind  is  the  shadow  of  all  that  was, 

The  hint  of  all  things  to  be, 
The  soul's  preceptor  in  all  cause, 

Its  rivulet,  or  sea; 
Mind  is  the  person  and  estate, 

The  voice,  the  song,  the  tune, 
The  soul's  concurrence  and  its  fate, 

Its  midnight  and  its  noon. 

Mind  is  the  tide-way  of  existence,  waved 

By  every  passing  breath, 
The  soul's  identity,  as  saved 

Through  every  form  of  death; 
Mind  is  the  sum  of  joy,  the  sum  of  woe, 

Life's  highest  and  its  lowest  goal, 
Thought's  ever  ebbing  and  returning  flow  — 

The  consciousness  of  soul! 


WHAT    IS    SOUL? 

THE  soul  is  the  wealth  of  the  centuries  past, 
And  the  treasure  of  coming  time, 
The  reflection  of  every  glory  cast 

From  the  throne  of  The- Most- Sublime; 
The  depths,  the  heights,  and  the  breadths  of  space, 

And  its  boundless  imagery; 
The  realm  of  thought  and  the  sense  of  grace, 
The  <(  was }>  and  the  (( is  to  be. }) 

The  soul  is  the  centerless.  rimless  whole, 

The  «  unbegun  »  and  «  no  end,» 
The  will  born  free  of  the  law's  control, 

The  «feel»  and  the  « comprehend  f 
The  thrill,  the  rhythm,  and  song  of  light 

Wherein  all  things  applaud, 
The  torch  through  the  nethermost  shades  of  night, 

The  discovery  of  God ! 

(175) 


THE   WORLD   IS   SELF 

THE  world  is  Self.     The  universe  is  Me. 
I  am  its  Heaven,  its  Hell,  and  its  Extent; 
Beyond,  it  matters  not  infinity 

That  I  shall  never  know — have  never  spent. 

Resolved  in  this  —  all  comets  come  and  go, 
All  suns  take  fire,  all  planets  wheel  around; 

The  subtlest  ether  has  in  me  its  flow, 

And  I,  to  all  things,  am  the  solid  ground. 

What  were  it  all  — save  for  the  fact  « I  am," 
If  dead,  and  gone  to  naught,  the  thing  I  was  ? 

What  were  it  all  but  a  stupendous  sham  — 
This  wondrous  life  to  which  I  give  applause  ? 

In  my  own  soul,  I  climb  the  loftiest  heights, 
In  my  own  mind,  I  view  the  wider  skies; 
Deep  in  my  heart's  depths  lie  the  fairest  sights, 

And  in  my  conscience  I  achieve  my  size. 
(176) 


CONSECRATION 


AWAKE!   O  Sleeping  Soul!    In  earnest  life 
Draw  near  to  God,  and  woo  the  gifts  of  love ; 
Ask  for  the  faith  that  consecrates  to  worth, 
Ask  for  the  hope  that  purifies  desire, 
Ask  for  the  strength  that  succors  and  sustains, 
Ask  for  the  wisdom  that  prescient  leads, 
Ask  for  the  gift  of  tongues,  that  all  may  hear, 
Ask  for  such  grace,  that  hearing  they  believe, 
Ask  of  thine  own  to  give,  and  giving  all, 
That  all  receiving,  may  as  all  possess; 
Ask  so  to  die,  that  dying,  there  be  joy 
For  those  who,  poor,  are  world-despised  and  waste, 
Ask  thus,  O  Soul,  the  loving  Father  hears 
When  sorrow  kneels,  and  self-denial  prays. 
12  (177) 


STUDIES 

THE  infinite  was  never  less,  nor  more; 
All  was,  all  is,  all  will  be  unto  all; 
There  never  was  <(  beginning  "  to  <(  no  end }) ; 
There  never  can  be  "center"  to  «no  bounds 
Nor  God,  nor  man,  can  self  annihilate, 
Nor  self  transfer,  nor  self  design  nor  mate. 
God  lives  the  growth  of  elemental  things, 
Man  lives  their  uses  segregated,  set; 
God  joined  the  elements  to  form  a  sea, 
Man  wrought  a  ship  to  float  upon  its  breast; 
God  made  the  ore  and  stored  it  in  the  earth, 
Man  drew  it  forth  and  shaped  it  into  art; 
Nor  sea,  nor  ore,  could  finite  man  create, 
Nor  God,  the  Infinite,  a  ship  or  knife. 
(178) 


EQUALITY 


BOAST  not,  O  Man,  thy  few  drams  more  of  brain, 
Thy  larger  frame,  thy  greater  grasp  of  things  ; 
God  weighs  not  intellect,  nor  measures  soul, 
Nor  yields  to  accident  the  keys  of  fate. 
No  blind  fatuity,  no  partial  hand, 
Hath  shaped  the  spirit,  or  diverged  its  path; 
No  lordly  virtue  farms  the  realm  of  thought, 
No  facial  angle  parcels  out  degree; 
As  space  is  ever  space,  so  mind  is  mind  — 
A  boundless  universe,  a  boundless  sense;  — 
Cloud -hid,  or  distant,  still  the  stars  are  there. 
Rayless,  or  dwarfed,  all  selfs  are  peers  of  all, 
And  destined  all  for  equal  worth  to  strive. 

(179) 


GROWTH 

FROM  God  to  man  is  universal  growth, — 
Growth  —  toil  of  law  and  assayist  of  time. 
Not  as  evolved  by  self-assumed  degrees, 
From  crude  to  grander  types,  as  savants  teach, 
But  as  developed  from  the  conscious  germ, 
Each  shape  distinct,  a  separate  deed  of  power. 
Thus  God  is  growth  and  being  all  is  growth, 
Else  lesser  man  the  Infinite  outweighs, 
And  God,  the  Infinite,  lessens  to  a  thing  — 
As  pagans  carve  him  —  cold,  unfeeling  stone. 
Who  thinks  one  single  thought  beyond  a  thought, 
Or  does  one  single  act  beyond  an  act, 
Has  measured  time,  and  given  lines  to  growth. 
This  crowning  truth  man,  one  day,  will  discern, 
And,  seeing  so,  grow  rational  and  calm. 
(180) 


PROPHECY 


THERE  will  be  peace,  a  universal  tongue, 
A  just  equality  and  fraternal  law, 
And  all  that,  else,  may  substance  give  to  worth. 
Such  is  to  be.     I  read  it  in  the  light 
Of  man's  own  hope,  and  in  his  faith  in  God. 
The  good  shall  gather  and  the  evil  lose. 
The  soul,  refined,  shall  cast  its  ruder  self, 
And  heaven  be  felt  a  consciousness  within. 
Man,  sub-creator,   heir  of  truth,  shall  yet 
Discover  life  —  its  destiny  and  power, 
And  in  the  majesty  of  knowledge  robed, 
Shall  scepter  love  —  the  Christ-fulfilling  reign. 


(181) 


THE   EVERLASTING   HEART 


SONGS  are  fragments  of  existence  — 
Cast  forth  of  the  human  soul, 
Taking,  of  their  own  insistence, 
Their  separate  shape  and  goal. 

Tear-expressed,  and  yet  of  pleasure, 
Or  of  love's  entrancing  mood, 

Songs  are  the  semblance  and  the  measure 
Of  a  moment  understood. — 

Finite  sentiencies  of  being 

That,  as  sparks  of  primal  thought, 
Enter  the  consciousness,  agreeing 

As  of  its  own  conscience  wrought. 
(182) 


THE   EVERLASTING   HEART  183 

Stars  set,  and  ever  glowing 

In  the  firmament  of  mind  — 
Songs  are,  to  all  human  knowing, 

The  Infinite  —  divined. 

Shapened,  as  lives  are  rounded 

Down  the  long  years  of  time, 
Songs  are  of  all  selves  propounded  — 

The  deathless  and  sublime. — 

The  voices  that  alone  are  spoken 

As  of  the  spirit's  art  — 
Distinguishing,  by  this  one  token, 

The  Everlasting  Heart. 


THAT    FAITH    THE    BEST 


I  HOLD  that  faith  the  best  which  daily  gives, 
To  stumbling  man,  the  largest  growth  of  heart ; 
That  prayer  the  truest  which,  as  daily,  lives 
Earth's  boundless  blessing  —  all-divining  art. 


I  hold  the  Churches  to  be  the  call  of  God, 

The  school  wherein  our  better  selves  may  grow ; 

The  public  mentor,  wielding  Virtue's  rod, 

To  deal,   when  precept  fails,    the   scathing  blow. 
(184) 


THE    CHURCH    OF    CHRIST 


SOONER  or  later  the  governed  must  be  held, 
As  through  the  conscience  yielding  to  the  code ; 
For  time  will  be  when,  all  of  doubt  dispelled, 
Man  shall  discern  the  Spirit's  true  abode. 

As  when  the  Church,  exponent  of  the  quest 
For  reason's  self,  as  God  obscured  in  man, 

Shall  build  its  temples,  as  of  worth  confessed, 
Through  all  of  science,  as  on  Nature's  plan. 

When  art,  and  mind,  and  treasures  shall  combine, 

And  conscience  weigh,  and  wisdom  tip  the  scale; 
When  all  of  law  shall  stand  for  love  divine, 

And  peace  o'er  all  the  shackless  earth  prevail. 

(185) 


1 86  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

Thus  shall  return  the  heavenly  Church  of  old, 
When  fearless  faith  first  faced  the  lion's  wrath; 

When   unarmed    conscience   braved    the   proud  and 

bold, 
And  Christ-like  men  stood  in  the  tyrant's  path. 

Thus  shall  return,  as  chastened  by  long  years  — 
Enriched  and  graced  by  faith's  diviner  works  — 

The  Church,  indeed,  as  broadened  by  the  Seers, 
Wherein  no  dogma  stalks  or  schism  lurks. 

The  Church  of  Christ,  as  temple  of  the  soul, 
Revealing  God,  as  centered  in  all  things; 

Giving  to  faith,  o'er  all  the  world,  control, 

And  to  the  heart,  through  all  of  Heaven,  wings. 


DEATH    IS    NOT    THAT    I    DIE 


DEVILS  and  hells,  and  the  dreams 
That  terrified  thought  in  its  night, 
Are  exorcised  now  by  the  gleams 
That  science  is  giving  to  light. 

Science  —  that  Church  of  the  living, 
Wherein  is  the  worship  of  truth, — 

Where  consent  is  without  a  misgiving, 
And  faith  hath  perpetual  youth. 

Where  hope,  once  flashed  through  the  heavens, 

Lights  up  ever  farther  the  path; 
And  fancy  of  flight  never  leavens 

The  future   with  fear  of  its  wrath. 

(187) 


l88  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Whose  priests  are  as  born  to  the  altar, 
Where,  listening,  the  angels  applaud; 

Whose  hymns  are  as  sung  from  the  psalter  — 
As  old  as  the  first  thought  of  God. 

Whose  pews  are  the  health-giving  fountains, 
The  seas  and  their  shell-littered  shores, 

The  flower-sweet  plains  and  the  mountains, 
And  all  of  earth's  wondrous  stores. 

Whose  pinnacles  rise  ever  higher, 

Whose  walls  are  the  confines  of  space, 

Whose  foundations  were  laid  by  the  Sire  — 
The  Primal  and  Ultimate  Grace. 

Sweet  God  —  so  loving  and  tender, 
It  is  thus  on  Thy  bosom  I  lie; 

While  my  soul,  gone  out  to  Thy  splendor, 
Knows  that  death  is  not  that  I  die. 


HOME  LIGHTS 


(189) 


BABY 

BABY  pokes  her  finger 
Into  Mamma's  eye, 
Mamma  says  that  — <(  Baby 
Will  make  Mamma  cry!" 

Baby,  smiling,  googles— 
Pulling  Mamma's  hair, 

Mamma  cries,  but  Baby  — 
What  does  Baby  care? 

Baby  will,  when  older, 

Kiss  her  Mamma's  eyes, 

And  bedew  the 'flowers 
Where  her  Mamma  lies. 

Thus  must  Mammas  carry, 
Thus  will  Babies  woo, 

Yet,  without  its  angels, 

What  would  Heaven  do? 


AFTER    MAMMA 


FIRE-LIT  hearth  — 
Full  of  mirth, 
Mamma  cuddles  baby; 
Finger  pokes, 
Laugh  provokes  — 
Hugs  and  kisses,  may  be. 

Makes  a  scowl, 

Then  a  growl  — 
«  Must  be  naughty  kitty  » 

Then  a  smile, 

And,  awhile, 
Sings  a  rocking  ditty. 

Now  to  bed, 
Sleepy  head  — 

Puts  on  long  pjamma; 
((  God  in  sleep 
Baby  keep" — 

Says  so  after  Mamma. 

(102) 


RECONCILIATION 


WEEPING,  she  came  to  my  arms  —  Dear  One! 
Pity  and  kisses  received  her; 
Sobbing,  she  lay  there  —  my  bosom  upon, 

Telling  the  story  that  grieved  her. 
More  in  a  moment  than  all  else  had, 

Tears  bridged  the  chasm  between  us; 
Kisses  and  kisses  she  gave    and  she  had, 
And  the  shadow  passed  from  between  us. 
13  (193) 


DEAREST 


(FROM  THE  ANTIPODES) 

A -WIND WARD  I  gaze  at  the  moon,  dearest, 
A -sailing  aslant  its  pale  rays, 
Contrasting  my  night  with  thy  noon,  dearest, 

My  winter  with  thy  summer  days; 
A-sailing  the  far  tmderwold,   dearest, 

<(  Would  always,"  I  say  to  the  night, 
<(  That  mine  were  the  dark  and  the  cold,  dearest, 
So  thine  were  the  warmth  and  the  light. w 

I  say  to  the  night  and  the  noon,  dearest, 

Far  under  the  star-symboled  cross, 
As  wooed  by  the  ocean's  weird  tune,  dearest, 

At  speed  with  the  lone  albatross; 
<(  However  the  skies  may  divide,  dearest, 

However  the  seas  intervene, 
Thou  wilt  ever  be  felt  at  my  side,  dearest, 

Thou  wilt  ever  be  sung  as  my  queen. w 
(194) 


AFFECTION-PROMPTED 


DEAR,  if  you  will  but  look  below 
The  surface  currents  of  my  life, 
You  will  descry  an  undertow 
That,  with  a  swift  and  even  flow, 
Forever  seeks  my  wife. 

Sweet,  if  you  will  but  stand  apart, 

From  out  my  sterner  sphere  of  strife, 
You  will  discern  my  steady  art 
Is  but  the  constant  flow  of  heart 
I  owe  unto  my  wife. 

Love,  if  you  will  but  center  thus, 

The  faith  with  which  the  soul  is  rife, 

No  cloud  can  rise  to  shadow  us, 

But  well  content  and  emulous, 
My  hope  shall  be  my  wife. 


MARIANA 


ONCE  I  sat,  at  ease  reclining, 
Gazing  at  the  starlit  sky, 
While  my  soul,  itself  divining, 
Wandered  with  a  maiden  by. 

Down  the  lane  I  saw  them  going, — 
Where  the  yew-tree  casts  its  leaves, 

Through  its  boughs,  the  pale  moon,  showing, 
Looked  as  one  who  sorely  grieves, — 

Saw  the  maiden's  golden  tresses 

Pass  within  the  dark  divide, 
While  my  soul,  with  love's  caresses, 

Pressed  her  dear  hand  to  its  side. 
(196) 


MARIANA  197 

Presently,  my  soul,  returning, 

Came  without  the  blue -eyed  maid, 

Came,  yet  with  a  constant  yearning, 
Gazing  deep  into  that  shade. 

Nevermore,  at  ease  reclining, 

Gazing  at  the  starlit  sky, 
Shall  my  soul,  itself  divining, 

Wander  with  that  maiden  by. 


LIFE'S   ANGELS 

WHEN  the  cares  of  life  divide  me, 
And  the  night-watch  is  confessed, 
Comes,  then,  one  who  sits  beside  me, 
Sits  and  soothes  my  soul  to  rest  — 

Comes  in  silence  all  unbroken, 

Sits  as  presence  all  unseen, 
And  with  words  no  tongue  hath  spoken 

Breathes  a  consciousness  serene. 

Then  my  soul  goes  out  before  me  — 
Up  a  broad  expanse  of  light, 

And  the  hours  of  day  restore  me 
Unto  faith's  diviner  sight. 

Then  I  know  that  Heaven  is  near  us, 

And  that  those  who  go  before  — 
Loved  ones  who  were  wont  to  cheer  us, 

Are  life's  angels  evermore. 
(198) 


L'ENVOI 

DEAR  Father,  in  Thy  loving  hands, 
Here  with  the  night's  returning, 
I  place  my  labor  as  it  stands, 

For  Thy  approval  yearning; 
All  else  were  recompense  too  slight, 

Though  man's  high  praise  confessing, 
If,  with  the  waning  of  the  light, 
Were  added  not  Thy  blessing. 

God,  from  Thy  heart,  alone,  I  would 
Draw  every  thought  and  feeling; 

Give  me  the  consciousness  of  good, 
Thy  nearer  self  revealing; 

Give  me,  of  needed  strength  and  rest, 
The  body's  wonted  power, 

And  wing,  as  an  angelic  guest, 

The  soul  through  night's  long  hour. 

(199) 


200  MARTYRED  HUMANITY 

Hear  me,  as  for  the  poor  in  need, 

As  for  the  weak  who  suffer, 
As  for  the  strong  who  bravely  lead, 

Though  duty's  paths  grow  rougher; 
Hear  me,  as  in  the  voice  of  Christ, 

His  human  form  caressing, 
Whose  pity  for  the  thief  sufficed  — 

O  Father,  yield  Thy  blessing! 


FROM  THE  AUTHOR'S 
AMERICAN   HEREDITY 

A  PATRIOTIC  POEM  IN  ONE  BOOK 


(201) 


APOTHEOSIS 


THERE  is  for  woman,  now,   the  dawn  at  hand  — 
As  of  a  kingdom  yet  the  more  to  be, 
Wherein  her  sex  shall  share  the  world's  command, 
And  give  to  State,   as  of  herself  made  free, 
A  partner-state  —  as  wed  to  what  we  see. — 

A  duel  system  —  as  of  life  and  soul; 

A  double  purpose  —  as  for  Heaven  and  earth ;  — 

The  crown  encircled  with  the  aureole, 

The  Cross  its  sceptre,  and  of  double  worth 
The  goal  ahead  for  every  human  birth. 

This  is,  for  woman,  yet  her  sex's  aim  — 
The  riper  meaning  of  her  softer  heart: 

To  purge  the  world  of  all  that  dooms  to  shame, 
To  guide  its  morals,   and  to  bar  the  art 

That  leads  through  falsehood  to  the  public  smart, 

(203) 


204  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Nor,  as  if  pressing  thus,  beyond  her  sex, 

Nor,  for  the  man,   contracting  life's  domain  — 

The  new  committals  are  the  less  to  vex, 
The  less  to  burden,   narrow  or  restrain, 
Because  of  larger  circumstance  and  reign;  — 

Because,   as  qualified  for  yet  the  more  — 
As  of  the  woman,  and  for  yet  the  man, 

The  yet  accretion  of  the  larger  store  — 

In  all  that  industry  and  conception  can  — 
By  native  instinct  and  of  Nature's  plan. 

For  this,   America  now  sets  the  pace, 

For  this,   its  woman  dons  the  robe  of  state, — 

The  queen  confirmed  by  myriad  acts  of  grace, 
As  of  the  past  conferred,  and  of  the  fate 

That  made  her  consort  of  a  king  as  great. 
\ 

Thus,   is  her  life  to  be  the  more  of  love  — 
As  ever  the  more  its  sentiment  and  prize, 

Its  dreams  conceived  as  ever  the  more  above  — 
As  of  the  earth  spread  round  with  fairer  skies, 
And  of  existence  given  sweeter  ties. 


APOTHEOSIS  205 

She  would  not  be  the  man  in  aught  she  could, 
She  still  will  seek  him  as  her  lord  and  king, 

The  hero,   champion  of  her  every  good, 

And  warrior,  battling  for  the  crown  and  ring, 
In  all  that  statesmen  prize  and  poets  sing. 

She  will  be  charming  —  to  be  charmed  by  him; 
She  will  be  regal  —  but  his  crown  to  wear; 

Her  voice  uplifted  —  but  as  he  shall  hymn 

The  deeper  cadence  to  the  faith  they  share  - 
Owning,   alike,   the  burdens   they  may  bear; 

But,   as  the  Soulward  ever  the  more  divined, 
And  as  the  leader  in  concurrent  strife, 

The  Woman,   conscious  of  her  sex  refined, 
And  of  that  larger  mystery  of  life  — 
The  Mother  sacred  in   the  comrade  Wife. 


FROM  THE  AUTHOR'S 

SOULWARD 
A  SUBJECTIVE  POEM  IN  ONE  BOOK 


(207) 


PROEM 


IF,   IN  the  Temple,   them  wouldst  worship  God, 
With  reverent  awe,   I  enter  with  thee  there ; 
Come,   then,   as  reverently,   with  me  abroad  — 

For  thou  shouldst  worship  God  as  every  where  - 
And  I  will  show  thee  where  His  feet  have  trod. 

If,  at  the  Altar,   thou  wouldst  seek  the  Christ, 
And  thou  wouldst  ask  me  to  the  Sacred  Feast, 

My  heart  would  deem  the  Symbol  had  sufficed, 
And  take  as  truly  from  the  holy  priest, 
For  thus,   with  God,   is  fellowship  increased. 

If,  at  the  close,  thy  holier  thoughts  took  wing, 
And  bore  the  burden  of  thy  soul  on  high, 

And  thou  wouldst  ask  me  to  thy  hand  to  cling, 
So,  in  such  spirit,  ask  of  thee,  do  I, 

For  so,  in  holy  thought  of  God,   I  sing. 

14  (209) 


TITLE    TEXT 


WHENCE  are  the  dreams  we  paint  in  vivid  words, 
Our  lofty   aims,   our    all-inspiring   deeds,— 
The  hopes  which  single  from  the  grosser  herds, 
And  breathe  of  Soul  —  and  of  the  Spirit's  needs, 
If  not  of  Purpose  wherein  Nature  pleads  ? 

Is  Humbolt's  life  but  dissipated  dust  ? 

Are  Homer,    Milton,   but  as  pulseless  waste  ? 
When  earth,  transformed,  throws  off  its  present  crust, 

Shall  all  of  life  be  in  the  wreck  effaced  — 
A  Shakespeare's  genius  into  chaos  thrust  ? 

Our  martyrs,   saints,   shall  these  be  lost  in  death  — 
Engulfing  all  that  virtue  sought  and  gained? 

Is,  then,   existence  but  of  mortal  breath  ? 

And  all  of  grace  to  which  it  hath  attained 
But  as  the  Roman  gladiator  trained  ? 

(210) 


TITLE   TEXT  211 

There  has  been,  then,  no  plan  led  thro'  it  all  ? 
No  God  behind,   no  Heaven  to  the  fore  ? 

Just  a  blind  trend  of  atoms  under  thrall 

Of  soulless  force  —  unmeaning  evermore  — 
Whatever  form,   or  sentiency  they  bore  ? 

Religion  dead?  —  and  psalm  and  prayer,   too? 

And  all  the  argument  for  God  and  Christ  ? 
No  moral  worth  transfigured  to  the  view  ? 

No  Cross  upborne  that  for  the  thief  sufficed  ?  — 
But  cyclic  fate  —  endowing  to  undo?  — 

The  universe  a  sepulchre?  —  and  doom 

The  bat- winged  demon  of  a  Lethic  forge?  — 

Where  life  is  hammered  shapeless  to  the  tomb, 
By  many  a  cruel  pang  and  biting  scourge, 

While  time  recurs  an  all-enshrouding  gloom  ? 

Conscience  is  victim,  then,   and  the  Self-mind  — 
That  dream  of  beauty,  that  desire  for  good, 

That  age-long  growth  of  myriad  forms  divined  — 
Is  God-betrayed,  and  Heaven  by  Hell  withstood, 
Or,  of  itself,  it  is  the  thing  it  would. 


212  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

No,   all  of  motion,   all  of  matter  prove, 
Whether  of  cyclic  law  or  planet  rule, 

And  all  of  conscience,   consciousness  and  love, 

That  more  than  Chance  is  master  of  the  school, 
Which  trains  a  human  hand  to  use  a  tool. 

It   is  because  that  matter-form   is   Fate, 

That  cycles  blur,   and   suns  exhaust   their   heat, 

That  Nature  plans,   in  man,   the  soul's  estate, 
A  love-uplifting,   and  a  beauty  sweet, 
Beyond  the  death-throes  in  which  planets  meet; — 

And  this  progressive;  so,  that  on,  and  on, 
With  every  new  division  of  her  skies, 

There  still  shall  be  the  Being  built  upon, 
Of  larger  mastery  and  with  clearer  eyes: 
And  ever  the  fairer  face  and  sweeter  ties. 

And  this  is  whence  the  dreams  we   give  to  song, 
Whence  the  uplifting  inspirations  felt, 

That  wing  beyond  the  vision  of  the  throng, 
And  give  to  life,   as  thus  in   worship  knelt, 
The  title  — <(  Soul  ward, w  as  it  here  is  spelt. 


CONTEXT 


THERE  is  the   gazing  on  the  window's  shrine, 
When,  as  without  the  old  cathedral's  walls, 
We  stand  perplexed,  endeavoring  to  divine, 
In  those  dull  bits  of  glass  and  leaden  balls, 
The  Saintly  Child   who  unto  Heaven  calls. 

And   there  is,    too,   the  gazing  from  within, 
When,   as  kneeling  at  the  altar's  rail, 

We  see  all  shapely   what  without  had  been 
A  waste  of  glazing;  so  shall  the  light  avail 
When  life  shall,  Soulward,  seek  the  holy  grail. 

For  so  the  mortal  comes  as  veil  between  — 
Save  as  the  soul  hath  for  a  moment's  space, 

By  chance  bewrayment  of  its  earthly  screen, 
Shown  to  the  world  fleet  visions  of  its  grace, 

Man  hath  not  seen  his  own  immortal  face  — 

(213) 


214  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Hath  never  gazed  upon  himself  within, 

As  seeing  clearly,  through  the  glazier's  art, 

The  holy  presence  shrinking  from  its  sin, 
The  sacred  flame,  the  consecrated  heart, 
And  the   uplifted  hands  to   God  apart. 

But,   to  the   Soulward,   who  shall  look   without, 
Shall   see,   as  visions   of  the  blest  were  his, 

The  glad  soul  cleaving  through  the  clouds  of  doubt, 
To  where,  above,  shines  out  from  realms  of  bliss, 
The  path  to  God  —  no  seeking  feet  may  miss. 


SELECTION— i 


NOT  to  this   world,   it  is,    that  hope  may  cling-, 
Not  on  this  earth,  it  is,  that  pride  may  rear; 
Who  shall  be  crowned  of  man  is   not  a  King;  — 

Unless  of  God,  there  is  no  title  clear, 
Unless  of   Spirit,  no  domain  of  Wing;  — 

For  other  worlds  have  grown  (as  this   has   grown) 
To  sturdy  life,  to  beauty  and  estate, 

Only  to  cast   aside  the   shining  gown  — 

(As  this  shall,  later  on) — and,   desolate, 
Become  the   naked  cast-a-ways  of  fate. 

It  is  not  here   eternity  may  plant, — 

Or  here   give   quarterings   to  immortal   blood; 

No  other  orb  but  looks  on  this   askant, 

And  wonders  when  shall  come  that  final  flood 
Which  shall  o'erlay  its  palaces  with    mud;  — 

(215) 


2l6  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Or,   that    surprising   of  the  final  frost, 

Which   shall   envelope   all  beneath  its  flow  — 

Sending  the   spirit  to  its   Pentecost, 

From  this,   its   sepulchre  of  eternal  snow  — 
Giving  to  space  another  sign  of  woe;  — 

Or  that  swift  meeting  of  its  cosmic  end, 

When  shattered  thrones  shall  be  as  cosmic  dust, 

And  scattered  fragments   of  its  crust  shall  lend 
A  sign  of  portent  to  some  other  crust, 

Where  other  life   shall  see  and  comprehend. 

No,   not  of  earth  should  pride  set  up  its  boast, 
Nor  wealth   essay,   nor  power  hedge  about; 

No  kingdom  here,  no  strength   of   armored  post, 
Can   keep  the  final  ravisher  without, 
Or  spare  the  soul  when  conscience  sits  in  doubt. 


SELECTION— 2 


WHAT  other  impulse  could  of  Nature  grow 
Than  Life-desire,   seeking  herself  to  be  ? 
And  this  what  other  aspiration  show 

Than  that  of  Love,   in  all  conception  free, 
Seeking  her  God  thro'   all   Infinity  ? 

First, —  the   Spirit  was,  in  essential  law, 
Then  sentient  Will  —  as  all-dividing  life, 

Then  birth  of   Soul,   to   mend   the  fatal  flaw 

That  seared  existence  with  the  brand  of  strife, 

And  doomed  to  death,  ere   yet   the  mortal   saw. 

From  death  in   matter  grew  the  life  in   soul, 
As  mind,   conceiving  of  itself,   increased, 

And  took,   in  consciousness,   the  spirit's  role  — 
From  the  set   bondage  of  the  law   released  — 

To  be  a  something  more  than  plant  or  beast. 

(217) 


2l8  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Heredity  conserved  each  slow  advance  — 
By  whatsoever  road  direction   tried, 

Until  life  came  unto  that  happy  chance 
Which  drafted  off  into  the  soul-allied, 
And  gave  it  hope  beyond  the  death  it  died. 

This,   then,  is  Man!  his  high  position  won 
By  fair  survival  in  the   race  to  God; 

His   mind,   alone,   can  grasp  the  courses  run, 
Can  read  the  foot-prints  in  the  drifted  sod, 
Where   Heavenly   Purpose   down   the   ages  trod. 

And  he,   alone,   who  wrought  for  speech  a  sign, 
For  hand  a  tool,   for  eye  a   special  sight,— 

Who  gave  to  nakedness  a  dress  benign, 
Can  take   unto  himself  the   spirit's  flight, 
And  so  ascend   unto   the  Heavenly  Height. 

What  hope  springs  here  ?    What  comfort  of  the  heart 
Pours  its  glad  presence  thro'  the  shades  of  doubt  ? 

We  are  of  God,   of  Nature,  and  of  Art, 

And  who  shall   strive   to  live  the  purpose  out, 

Shall  be  with  these  in  life's  diviner  part. 


SELECTION  — 3 


AND   why  not  growth  —  God   and   the   Universe  ? 
Our  earth  conceived  so  pendant  in  the  whole, 
That  it  is  ranked  but  as  its  size  shall  nurse  — 
Born  for  a  span  within  its  sphere  to  roll, 
And  then  to  die  —  so  giving  birth  to  soul  — 

So  giving  shape   to    consciousness  apart. 

As  the  birth-impulse  of  its  will  took  hue;  — 

A  different  functioning  leading  up  to  heart, 

A  different  structure  threading  purpose  through, 
As  there  shall  roll  fresh  planets  into  view  ? 

To  all  must  Form  pertain,   and  Mind,  and  Soul  — 
So  like  is  Matter,   Sentiency,  and  Will, 

Wherever  seas  spread  out,  or  mountains  nod, 
There  will  be  found  the  like  organic  thrill. 

There  will  be  grown  the  like  immortal  skill ;  — 

(219) 


220  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

Different  and  differing,   though,  for  never  twain 
Can  in  a  boundless  universe  be  born 

Alike  in  all  the  branchings  of  a  vein. 
Or  in  the  hope  of  an  immortal  dawn, 

For  the  same  blendings  never  chance  again. 

Nor  in  the  Boundless  can   there  Centre  be, 
Save  as  recentres  in  a  boundless  change  — 

Forever  acting  as  the  bound  and  free, 

And  on,   and  on,   through  an  exhaustless  range, 

Keeping  the  poise-law  of  Infinity. 

Of  space,  of  worlds,  of  life,  of  God, 

Where  can  be  limit  set,  or  law  begun  ? 

Something  we  reckon  safely  of  the  sod, 
Somewhere  relation  measure  by  the  sun, 
But  nothing,  and  nowhere,  of  the  All-in-One ! 

Of  Mind,   the  Measureless  is  set  before, 
And  as  of  this,   as  always  light  to  light, 

Shall  be  the  lamp  held  by  the  Evermore, 
And  inextinguishable,   however  night 
Shall  of  its  folds  envelope  or  affright. 


SELECTION— 4 


SEEN  but  as  ball-masks  are  the   films  of  life;  — 
However  gilded,  or  however  prized, 
Matter  is  but  the  smoke  and  dust  of  strife  — 
The  cloud  in  which  the  Spirit,   first  disguised, 
Must  hide  until  the  Soul  is  recognized. 

Beyond  its  use,   what  folly  to  apply! 

Or  still  beyond,   what  madness  to  insist  — 
Ordaining  livery  of  the  forms  that  die, 

So  that  the  living  must  the  dead  resist, 
Or,  as  the  slaves  of  empty  tombs  —  comply! 

What  God  would  so  ordain,  what  Heaven  applaud, 
What  Purpose  thrive,   if  Will  could  tie  behind, 

From  its  first  leapings  from  the  primal  sod, 

And  leave  its  moulds  upon  the  stupid  kind  — 
To  weigh  them  backward,  or  to  keep  them  blind ! 

(221) 


222  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

No,  not  from  Death  is  mandate  by  intent  — 
Not  of  the  Tomb  to  govern  or  destroy! 

Will  was  born  free  —  no  partial  measure  meant  — 
Free  to  elect,  endeavor  and  enjoy, 
As  chance  might  yield,  or  Self  its  means  employ. 


SELECTION  — 5 


THAT  man  should  fail,  where  insects  win  the  prize, 
Grows  of  the  fact  that  he  is  pushed  along  — 
The  al ways-growth  and   never-to-be-of-size  — 

Tottering  on  brinks,  and  wandering  in  the  wrong — 
The  God-companion,  rescued  by  the  throng. 

The  fault  is  this:  that  human  love  bequeaths, 
While  Nature's  love,   including  all,  endows; 

Not  for  a  part,  but  for  the  whole,   she  breathes, 
While  man,  as  yet  a  dwarf,  behind  the  brows, 
No  larger  freedom  than  he  must  allows. 

And  yet,  in  him,   lie  gifts  of  countless  things, 
Of  powers  and  means  so  potent,  and  so  vast 

That  he  might  give,   as  with  the  power  of  kings, 
And  yet,  retained,  have  still  the  more  amassed, 

As  still  the  more  inheriting  the  past 

(223) 


224  MARTYRED   HUMANITY 

But  of  the  Beast  —  man's  first  imagined  Man  — 
Drawn  from  life's  first  conceit  by  slow  advance, 

The  Germ -companion  of  each  structured  clan. 
The  self-selected  of  all  life's  expanse, 
It  is  not  true  that  he  is  here  by  chance, — 

The  one  round  higher  of  the  sire  before, 
Descent  of  matter  toiling  unto  life, 

Gathering  by  foot  and  hand  the  larger  store  — 
With  still  no  subtler  purpose-shaping  rife 
Than  such  as  accident  drew  forth  from  strife! 

The  Monkey-Man!  —  this  bridge  was  never  crossed! 
The  broad  ravine  shows  bottomless  and  wide; 

The  leap  is  seen,  but  as  new  purpose  tossed  — 
A  new  God-thought  —  upon  the  other  side, 
To  be  life's  double  —  earth  and  heaven  allied; 

To  be  a  Tolstoi — luminous  of  Soul, 

A  Pasteur  —  baring  Nature  to  the  Mind; 

A  Jesus  —  that  prescient  faith  might  roll 

The  poet's  numbers  on  the  Hope-enshrined  — 
As  of  the  God-in-Man,  the  Christ-defined. 


SELECTION  225 

The  Christ-defined !  —  shall  this  the  road  be,  then  ? 
Always  the  Cross-directed  and  up-born  ? 

The  Saviour  still  so  crucified  of  men 

That  pity  weeps  in  vain,   and  virtue,  torn, 
Must  ever  feel  the  consecrating  thorn  ? 

Shall  such  vast  patience  argue  nothing  more 
Than  man  shall  die  an  unrecorded  thought  ? 

Shall  such  sublimity  of  self  encore 

To  still  a  dying  commonness  of  lot  — 
Infinity  of  aim  —  eternally  forgot  ? 

Dear  Soul,  be  not  cast  down,  thy  time  is  yet; 
Thou  hast  been  nurtured  at  to  kind  a  breast 

To  be  in  darkness  when  earth's  sun  is  set;  — 
For  God  is  in  us,  and  of  us  confessed, 
And  here  we  may  —  in  firm  conviction  —  rest. 
15 


L'  ENVOI 


AND  now,  O  Muse,  let  us  fold  our  wings, 
O  Mind,  let  us  now  depart; 
We  have  built  anew  where  the  ivy  clings, 
And  over  the  world  of  art 
We  have  carried  the  Soul's  Delsarte. 

What  is  there  more  we  would  gather  and  give, 

Or  what  of  song  our  renew  ? 
Here  is  the  sign  that  asserts  we  live, 

And  here  is  the  double  view, 

Gathered,   O    Mind,   of   the    Soul   and   you! 

How  shall  they  say,   who  shall  come  to  our  feast, 
Given  as  conscience  would  fain, 

Shall  our  words  be  those  of  the  healing  priest  ? 
Or  shall  they  give  sorrow  and  pain  — 
As  of  truth  that  was  sought  in  vain  ? 


M191902 


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